


Gedref Could've Mentioned This

by daroh



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s01e11 The Labyrinth of Gedref, Fluff, M/M, post-1.11 fic, unicorn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 10:31:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1384285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daroh/pseuds/daroh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After breaking the curse brought down upon Camelot by Arthur killing the unicorn, Merlin and Arthur overdo it with the celebrational alcohol, waking up entwined the next morning in Arthur's bed. As if the intoxication, the secret magic, and a worrying string of previous manservants weren't enough to deal with, Merlin is beleaguered by a strangely affectionate, oddly familiar-looking unicorn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gedref Could've Mentioned This

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skitz_phenom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skitz_phenom/gifts).



> Author's Notes: This fic was written for the 2014 Merlin Reverse Big Bang, inspired by the amazing artwork of skitz_phenom, who has been a wonderfully encouraging, talented, funny, cheerleader of a collaborator. I feel very lucky to have met her through this and written for her gorgeous art!  
> There is no way on earth I could have done this without my ingenious beta, [EachPeachPearPlum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EachPeachPearPlum), who not only beta'd and Brit-picked like the keen-eyed, diligent pro that she is, but provided endless support, planning, draft-reading, and cheer-giving on a daily basis. I am so thrilled to have this Peach, this writer I have long admired, as such a dear friend and fanfic-improver extraordinaire. Thank you!  
> I also could not have done this without [Detochkina](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Detochkina) urging me to challenge myself and participate in this fest. I'm so glad I did! It's made the last few months extremely special in many ways. She has also provided constant love and ego-boosts, not to mention brilliant suggestions for this fic throughout the process, from large plot ideas to minor sentence details. Thank you so much!!  
> I'm grateful for you all!  
> Thank you to chosenfire28 for organizing this great challenge, too.
> 
> Story Notes: This takes place directly after 1x11, "The Labyrinth of Gedref," but I have imported all the knights into the fic because things are just better that way. I hope you forgive this liberty as well as any and all mistakes that appear. They are entirely mine and not the fault of my superb beta.
> 
> Merlin is not mine but Shine's.

artwork by [skitz_phenom](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1384318?view_adult=true)

 

**The Morning After**

If this were an ordinary morning, Merlin would be bursting into Arthur’s chambers right about now with a breakfast tray teetering in his hands and an ankle twisting behind him to kick the door closed. He would let the tray fall to the table on his way over to the windows, where he’d thrust the curtains open with just enough enthusiasm to annoy Arthur. The usual bickering between the two would get underway, and Merlin set to work. He might have to drag Arthur bodily from the princely sheets, shoving sweet bread in his mouth and tossing a tunic at him, but eventually Arthur would accept the start of the day, and all would be fine.

But this was no ordinary morning. This was the morning after the most unfettered night of celebrating Merlin had ever experienced, and he was coming back into consciousness with a throbbing in his head unequaled in recent or distant memory. It commanded all of his attention for the first few minutes of waking, a blinding pain that made his brain feel impossibly larger than his skull.

It was with rapidly growing alarm that he began to take stock of his surroundings: the soft, long bed on which he lay, the silky bedclothes beneath and around him, lush and plentiful. These could only mean one thing—well, two or three things, but really only one—and panic shot through him as his eyes widened, an intense pain immediately closing them again. Even the dim light seeping through the heavy curtains was enough to sear his brain. But the quick peek had managed to snap him into consciousness: he was in Arthur’s room, in Arthur’s bed, and there was an arm draped across his back that was almost certainly Arthur’s. His heart was stopped dead, and the only way to get it going again was to get out of the room _post haste_. What on earth had happened last night? Merlin couldn’t think about that right now. Instead, he made his move—or series of moves, rather, each more ridiculous than the last—to extract himself from Arthur’s lazy claim. His right hand and foot reached the floor first, but the bed was too high for him to gain his balance and gracefully slip out. Instead, an awkward side-tumble saw him to the floor, like a batch of branches falling from a cart. It didn’t matter, though, because although his left leg had nearly taken down the veils of the canopy, his back had stayed relatively flat, and Arthur’s arm barely registered the thin form disappearing from beneath it.

 In terror, confusion, and not a little dizziness, Merlin gathered his clothes from the floor--and were they really _all_ on the floor?—hurriedly put on breeches and tunic and ran out the door, hushing its close with a bit of magic as he stumbled down the corridor.

Gaius, as luck would have it, was still sleeping, also having indulged in far too much drink the night before. With relief at not having questions to answer, Merlin tripped up the stairs to his room and fell into bed, head pounding and mind racing. He should have hushed his entrance with a little magic, too, though, for within moments, Gaius was at his door.

“Merlin,” he said, “What on earth was I thinking last night? I must’ve drunk more than Gwaine does in a week at the tavern!”

Merlin’s muffled answer came from beneath a pillow. “Nnn. I know,” the suffering in his tone obvious, even with his face buried.

“Yes; you and Arthur were celebrating like I’ve never seen before! Lifting the curse of drought and famine from the land sure does put you both in a festive mood.”

Merlin groaned again, rebelling at the memory.

“What time did you come in, anyway? I never would’ve thought you could outlast the whole castle in carousing.”

One last moan came from the pillow, and Gaius took his cue. “Come now, Merlin; I’ve just the thing to have us both feeling better in a little while. And it’s a good thing I have: I’m sure Arthur will be wanting extra help this morning as well.”

At the mention of waking Arthur, Merlin’s heart lodged in his throat, and he felt like he might be sick. What on earth had he been doing all night with the heir to the throne? With _Uther_ ’s son?? The king was sure to have him executed, if Arthur didn’t beat him to it. There was no way this was going to go well, whenever it was he had to face things. But one thing was for sure: this morning was not that time. This was a very good day indeed to make himself scarce.

“Arthur said I could have the morning off,” Merlin said, hoping his plan of hiding under his own thin blanket all day would erase everything that happened since he and Arthur had returned from the Labyrinth of Gedref the day before.

“The morning off? Well, that doesn’t sound like him, but I guess he was quite charitable last night. He was very generous with you,” Gaius said, more question than statement in his voice.

Merlin cringed at all the meaning weighing that phrase down. Arthur had in no way given him the morning off—at least he didn’t remember any conversation to that or really any other effect—but he had certainly been generous with the libations and his bed. Merlin could hardly believe the snippets of things he was allowing himself to remember. He and Arthur had drunk for hours in the hall with the rest of the court, and then, as the moon waned and the crowd thinned to nothing, they had clamored through the castle, making their way to Arthur’s chambers, then drank a little more. He remembered laughing the whole of the night, in pure, unself-conscious joy, but it was easy and familiar, too, and the best time he’d ever had celebrating like that. And then they had started tussling a bit as Merlin sloppily tried to undress the prince, snickering the whole time. There was pushing and pulling and laughing, and then falling onto the bed. Arthur had pinned Merlin there, winning the fight of who was pulling off whose clothes, and all at once they became aware of each other’s arousal, and it seemed the most obvious, happy thing. It could have been hugely embarrassing—definitely huge, Merlin remembered—but somehow it worked in the moment, and Arthur took to the opportunity with relish, a brighter smile on his face than Merlin had ever seen.

Merlin was ripped from the memory with a clap of Gaius’s hands in front of his face, and he was definitely embarrassed then. “Merlin,” Gaius coaxed, eyebrow raised in interrogation.

Merlin shifted his gaze. “Sorry. Yeah,” he said vaguely, thinking over his tea. Remembering the line of discussion, he added, “Very generous. One morning off to suffer through the worst headache anyone has ever had in the history of the five kingdoms.”

Gaius, annoyed at the obvious withholding of information, huffed in response. “Well, then. With your extra time this morning, you can get me the herbs I need from the Forest of Ascetir, which is quite a distance from here. The fresh air will do you good. But be sure not to dawdle; there is much to do in preparation of Queen Annis’s visit, whether Arthur choses to remember so or not.”

Arthur again. Was Arthur awake yet? And what would he be thinking? How much would he like to kill Merlin right now? And for which offense, exactly? He figured Arthur wouldn’t be looking to tell anyone what he had spent the night doing, if he remembered, so he likely wouldn’t be making a scene looking for Merlin just yet. He might not even ask for Merlin the whole of the day. Or maybe, on second thought, he would call for his arrest. With a shudder of his shoulders and the thought, Merlin hurried to get out of the citadel as quickly as he could.

****

Arthur woke with a heavily slurred “Merlin” before he realized what he had said. He sat up quickly, his fingers pressed to his eyes as he tried to think about what had happened. He was just calling for Merlin, the idiot servant who gets him up in the morning, but he heard himself calling for the Merlin he had been—with!—all night. In his bed! And where was he now? What was Arthur supposed to do without a clue how things had been left, and without a servant to help him deal with his horrid headache and getting ready for what was sure to be an awful day? At least there would be water and food; that was rather a pleasant thought. He was a big hero, after all. He had proven himself pure of heart and had brought a bloody unicorn back to life. That’s how noble he was. Arthur, Prince of Camelot, and he relaxed a little into his pile of pillows, hands clasped comfortably behind his head. He tried to focus on the image of himself triumphantly riding back into the kingdom that he had just singlehandedly saved—well, singlehandedly with Merlin, but still.

That nagging image of Merlin—several in fact, in various states of undress—kept coming back. It was a lot of work to pay it no mind and focus on his own glory. So what if the whole point of Anhora’s test was to prove himself unselfish—sacrificial, even? That was what got him into this mess in the first place! All for Merlin, he’d drunk poison. Poison! What was he thinking? And now this? Embarrassed, abandoned in his own bed by his useless idiot of a manservant who had made a fool of him once again? Merlin would pay for this, Arthur nodded with certainty. So what if he was really rather beddable? And why did he keep thinking the words “Merlin” and “bed” together? He had better get up after all, servant or no.

Dressing and getting someone to bring him water and bread had turned out to cost him more effort than Arthur had expected, and he found he needed a nap by mid-morning, half to deal with the effects of far too much drinking, and half to avoid more questions from servants about Merlin’s whereabouts. A stern response had silenced the awkward, too-proper lad standing watch over Arthur’s breakfast, but it was one response too many, as far as Arthur was concerned. The only blessing about this day was that almost everyone in the castle had indulged heavily at the celebration of the lifted curse, so few of them would be going about their normal duties. No one would notice Arthur hiding in his room, nor would they question it if they did. Merlin should notice, but Merlin was the one that caused it, and he could bloody well solve this problem whenever he decided to grace Arthur with his presence, the useless prat. (But Arthur was supposed to be the prat. How had this happened? Stupid, stupid Merlin and his stupid chalices and goofy grin and ruffled hair and blue eyes… Arthur just hoped sleep would return some shred of his dignity, because he was surely indignant, and not a little nauseous.  A bit dizzy, too; what had been in that mead?)

 

**Picking Herbs (What Else?)**

Merlin had borrowed his usual horse from the stables, though technically he was only supposed to ride it when accompanying the prince. He wanted to get the herbs quickly so he could have more of his morning to himself, and stealing a horse was really the only way to do that.

After an hour at a solid gallop, the horse panted its way into the clearing Gaius had described, and Merlin dismounted. He secured the horse to a nearby tree and scanned the area with a golden flash. His magic helped him locate the herbs quickly, and he picked enough to keep Gaius stocked for weeks. Errand all but finished, give or take an hour’s frantic gallop home, Merlin settled in for some much needed sleep, slouching with his back against a tree, the bag full of herbs tucked comfortably under his arm.

The sunlight felt wondrously reassuring on his reclining form after the claustrophobic morning he had had within the walls of the castle. He was usually good at shaking off his worries and catching a wink or two, even at the worst of times, and he had certainly faced bigger problems than a little carousing gone awry. That’s all the previous night had been, really. It would be forgotten before you could say Prince Arthur.

How long he had been asleep he couldn’t say, but he had been dreaming most graphically about Arthur kissing him and pulling needy strokes from him. It was not fantasy but _memory_ embellishing the dreaming, if embellishment were even possible.

Those thoughts were quickly chased away, though, as was most of his body’s keening for his mind’s pleasures, when he realized what had woken him up: staring down at him, golden mane feathering in the wind, was none other than _another_ unicorn. Hadn’t they just been through this? Grasping for a calming thought, Merlin considered that perhaps the creature was just here for a thank you.

“Hello,” Merlin finally said, adjusting his rumpled tunic. “And what brings you here?” His squinting eyes were still taking in the animal’s looming silhouette against the sun.

The unicorn made no discernible answer.

“Is this about the Labyrinth of Gedref and Anhora’s trial? Thanks for giving Arthur another chance, by the way, and for restoring the crops. We’re all really grateful.”

No response again, other than a wide, slow blink, but Merlin wasn’t really sure what kind of response he was expecting. Fond gazing was nice but hardly informative.

“And your friend got its life back, and that’s really good,” he added.

A few more awkward moments passed in silence. Merlin scratched the back of his neck and peered around the field, trying to make some sense of the unicorn’s appearance.  

“Well,” he sighed, finally. “I suppose it’s time I was on my way. Thanks for the wake-up call.”

He stretched his muscles as he stood, brushing his clothes free of loose grass and herbs, then began fiddling with his horse’s reins. He was concerned about why the unicorn had sought him out, but only mildly. After all, he was far from Camelot, and the creature was in no immediate danger. Still, he’d feel better once the thing was well out of sight.

“All right, then. Off with you,” he said, motioning for it to prance away. The unicorn didn’t budge, though, and Merlin had no time in his day for a heart-to-heart, particularly with a creature incapable of speech.

“Well, I’ve got to be off, at least.”

He mounted his horse, hoping with some seriousness that the unicorn would quickly lose interest in him. “Do not follow me,” he added with a bit of a scold. He hoped his magic wasn’t now attracting unicorns like lost puppies, but with two appearing in the space of a week, it seemed a distinct possibility. That was something to worry about later, though; for now, he had to get back to Camelot. There would be a lot to do for the guests at court, with or without his problems with Arthur. He set his horse at a run and didn’t look back, not wanting to encourage the unicorn’s interest. He hoped the new unicorn was a minor problem he could leave in the field along with the scandalous dream he’d been having—one that was sure to be the first of many to plague him.

 

**Fighting Fit**

Training was going to be awful, no two ways about that. Between the headache and not knowing just how many people in the castle he should be avoiding, getting from his chambers to the field would be trial enough for Arthur. And he hadn’t even realized what the worst part of it all would be: sparring with Gwaine, who was more than happy to take advantage of the prince’s sorry state. Gwaine’s sword was cutting figures in the air like the blade of a sculptor. Arthur, meanwhile, felt like he was swinging a tree trunk. It couldn’t look good. He knew Leon and the other knights were snickering at his condition and Gwaine’s glee at having the upper hand, but that somehow only made him more determined to see the match through. His face felt sweaty and pale as he huffed with each swing, and Gwaine—long used to nights of heavy drinking—was all smiles and cool finesse. It was irritating beyond words, and Arthur rolled his eyes when the fight was finally finished.

As he walked back toward the other men, he saw what looked like a red scarf flitting through the line of trees. Scanning the woods more intently, he glimpsed the rest of the telltale outfit: a skinny brown trouser leg, the sleeve of a light jacket, the hem of a blue tunic. Merlin, hiding in the trees beyond the training field? Arthur didn’t know what to think. Clearly, Merlin was too nervous to approach. It must be that he was afraid what Arthur would say after the night they’d had. Or maybe he was ashamed. Or disgusted? Full of regret? Was _Arthur_ full of regret? This all was ridiculous. Why couldn’t Merlin just _report_ to Arthur the way he was supposed to? Arthur was still the prince, after all, and the whole point of courtly protocol was that it trumped all else. Merlin couldn’t just shirk his duties, no matter what he was feeling.

“My lord?” Leon said, calling Arthur’s attention back to the field. “Will you be announcing another match?”

Arthur caught Leon glancing dubiously into the woods, following Arthur’s eye-line.

“Yes; thank you, Leon,” Arthur said, taking in the group before him. “Please demonstrate with Sir Elyan how to respond to an attack from behind.”

Arthur cringed—inwardly, he hoped—at how that sounded, remembering that he had done that in some manner last night, pushing Merlin onto the bed when he had turned away with Arthur’s belt. Merlin had laughed in surprise and shoved a bit at Arthur when they landed entwined, but really, he hadn’t feigned much of a fight. He rather welcomed Arthur to do as he wished. He even said as much, almost in those words: “Do what you want,” his eyes lusty. Arthur hoped Leon wouldn’t follow course and respond to Elyan with a more than seductive invite, but there was little risk of that. In fact, Leon had already spun gracefully out of the range of Elyan’s grasp and engaged him in proper combat.

Arthur tried to focus on the match and assume a princely demeanor, but he couldn’t shake the memory of Merlin’s hands pressed to his hips, daring him to grind against him with real intent, not just as part of some accidental tussle. His eyes had been locked on Arthur’s, waiting for him to make a decisive move, and Arthur had been truly tantalized. Merlin’s commanding stare only made the prospect more enticing, more impossibly perfect than it had been even in the rare fantasy he had allowed himself.

Still, he needed to know this was not just his fantasy, as drunk as he was. He shifted his weight ever so slightly while he held Merlin’s gaze, assuring himself that Merlin was as aroused as he was. In his thin trousers and drunken lack of self-consciousness, Merlin’s hardness had been evident for some time, even while he helped Arthur undress, but the added hint of friction from Arthur’s movements made his jaw twitch, and he inhaled sharply. Arthur felt confident that this was entirely mutual, shared desire and a shared mistake, if it was one.

But this was the thought of a moment, and as Merlin’s mouth reset itself in coy pleasure, his eyes calming, Arthur gave up all thinking and let himself sink into the hollow of Merlin’s neck, rolling his hips against Merlin’s body. With lust pressing on his skin at all points, he had shoved Merlin’s trousers down and taken his hardened cock in hand, stroking him fast from his own unappeased erection. Then Merlin had stopped him, Arthur remembered with some shame—he hadn’t meant to be so eager—but only to flip him on his back, it seemed, and scramble to take Arthur in his mouth.

Arthur lay back, his mind reeling from the pleasure, the wetness of Merlin’s mouth, the suction and saliva and the rhythm of pressure over his full length; it was impossible that something could feel so good. He had raised his head to watch—he had to watch—Merlin’s swollen lips taking him in. Arthur knew he couldn’t last long. The addition of Merlin’s free hand hooking under his thigh and pushing Arthur harder into his mouth from underneath brought him to the peak of his pleasure more quickly than he intended.

“Merlin—”

But he could barely say the words in time, and he came deep in Merlin’s mouth, his body curling up into Merlin with a shudder of muscles. It had been pleasure more intense than anything he’d felt in his life, though he’d been treated to such attentions before. He hoped Merlin wasn’t upset for the lack of warning, but that fear was dispelled as Merlin sat up wearing a guilty grin. With is wet hand, he began to pull long, slow strokes on himself. He was watching Arthur watch him, and his mouth fell open, lips quirking.

Arthur noticed him wince when he quickened his pace, his hand losing some of its wetness. His breaths started catching without rhythm, and Arthur was paralyzed by the scene—Merlin, aching with desire, bringing himself off with him, above him.

It was clear when he was about to come, and Arthur reached up. Merlin bent forward, finishing on Arthur’s stomach, panting, exhausted. Arthur let his hands play in Merlin’s hair, almost disbelieving how perfect the night had been.

Merlin, still sprawled on Arthur’s stomach, looked up to meet his eyes, and he laughed a little, still trying to catch his breath. He kept his gaze locked on Arthur’s for more than a moment, too—a sustained look that was hard to read but certainly unabashed.

After a while, he crawled up and collapsed against Arthur. He wiped them both clean with the bedclothes before they drifted off into heavy, satisfied sleep.

The end of the memory brought Arthur back to the moment. What were Merlin’s eyes fixed on now? He tried searching the trees again inconspicuously, but that was proving difficult with Gwaine so intent on eating up every bit of the prince’s subpar display. He had kept a close eye on Arthur and Merlin the night before in the banquet hall, and he knew just how much Arthur had drunk. It was also likely he had seen more than a good share of flirting between them, but that could hardly be remarkable. That was the way he and Merlin bantered; nothing comment-worthy there.

Of course, his father had spoken to him more than once about not being too chummy with his manservant, but that was because his father was so stuffy about these things. There had been nothing to worry about—after all, Arthur reminded Merlin of his lowly status every chance he got. It occurred to Arthur, though, in the nervousness that was mounting in Merlin’s absence, that maybe that was why Merlin had given of himself so easily. Sure, the drinks had helped, but maybe Arthur had been too imperious with Merlin. His own power could be very intimidating, he recalled, straightening his shoulders. He hated to think Merlin felt he had to accommodate him in bed.

Across from Arthur, Gwaine gently elbowed Percival, and they were both smirking at Arthur’s daydreaming and corrected posture.

“Proud of your performance, princess?” Gwaine asked, all mockery and a hair flip. “I seem to recall you not fighting so well today,” he added, looking through cavalier lashes.

“ _Gwaine_ ,” Arthur said, trying to make his tone rejoinder enough, because he really didn’t have one on his tongue. He realized he was in charge of this little practice, though, and added, “The mace, Percival.”

Percival retrieved the mace from the collection of weapons at the end of the field and returned.

“Gwaine,” Arthur continued, “Demonstrate for us, if you will, how to disarm an attacker when you yourself are without weapon.”

Gwaine sighed with a small turn of his head but still wore an irritating smirk. Arthur hoped Percival’s mace would take care of that, because he himself had never quite been able to, and today was definitely not the day he’d master Gwaine’s insolence. He needed to merely limit the damage it could do him in front of his men. Besides, he hadn’t forgotten that Merlin’s eyes might be on him, and he wasn’t about to put himself on display again in a match against Gwaine, verbal or otherwise. Standing regally on the sidelines was the best plan right now.

Every now and then, he caught another glimpse of Merlin moving through the brush, but he was doing a good job of staying mostly hidden. Arthur could only wonder and worry about why he hid, and what either of them would say when they finally spoke. It would be so much easier if Merlin had just pretended that nothing had happened. Couldn’t he just be a bloody obedient servant for once and report for duty as usual? Arthur needed him to just be there at his side, like he was supposed to be, without complication. He needed that reassurance, especially when he wasn’t feeling like himself.

Percival, Arthur was pleased to see, was really putting Gwaine through the paces of the match, and he was grateful. His eyes shot to the trees once more as the mace swung deftly in Percival’s grip. The red scarf seemed to have gone, though, taking its wearer and Arthur’s distracted thoughts with it.

****

Unicorns, Merlin was rapidly realizing, never brought anything good.

The last one had made the wells run dry, the crops die, and Arthur offer his life in sacrifice. Now, here was another one, pestering him through the woods on his way back from picking herbs.

“Go away!” he hissed for the third time, but the plodding creature seemed hopelessly fond, blinking its devotion.

“People will kill you,” he said, urging his horse through the brush. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Really, of course, he hoped the thing would take the hint—the threat—and not actually follow him into Camelot, but that was becoming less and less likely.

As the citadel grew closer, Merlin’s patience was running thin. He turned to face the magical creature head on, to give it the grave talking to that it clearly needed. “Look,” he began, “I don’t know what you’re doing, but you have to go back. Leave. Now.”

The unicorn met his words with the same immovable stare.

“Now!” Merlin yelled, but then quieted. In his flash of anger, he had detected something about the creature he hadn’t noticed before, and it wasn’t just his propensity to see Arthur everywhere. This unicorn had a decidedly blonde mane and blue eyes, even a Pendragon-reddish coloring to its tail, if he could believe it. “How could you look like him?” he wondered aloud, gazing at the thing in utter perplexity.

He dismounted and walked closer to it, studying its features.

Disbelieving his own absurd question—but then again, absurd was all his life was anymore—he asked, “Arthur?”

Hearing the name had no effect on the unicorn (and really, why would it?), so Merlin shook off one nonsensical thought to try on another.

“Why are you following me? And why do you look like Arthur? Has he been shagging _everything_ in the five kingdoms?” The question was a joke, but it had sprung from the jealousy that had intermingled with his angst all morning: how many people had Arthur taken to bed? Who was his last manservant, anyway? Why wasn’t he around? Was he fired after a drunken night in Arthur’s chambers? Banished from Camelot? No one ever even mentioned previous servants. Curious, that.

Why had he never wondered this before?

“All right, forget that. But really, why are you following me, and why, why do you look like him?”

With his anxiety rising and no answers offering themselves, Merlin realized he had to come up with at least a short-term fix to the very persistent unicorn problem.

“Look, you really absolutely in no way can follow me into Camelot; Uther will kill you, or worse, chain you in his dungeon.” The thought was a sad one, and he knew he had to take some precaution in case the creature really did fearlessly stroll into the citadel just because he was drawn inexplicably to Merlin, though his attraction almost certainly had something to do with his magic. Or with the Labyrinth of Gedref. Or both. Or neither; what did he know? All he knew was that this was a problem he really hadn’t anticipated today, and one he really could’ve done without.

Still, he couldn’t bear to see any harm come to the creature. He had tried casting spells on it to make it stay away, but they had no effect. He thought perhaps he could do something to make its horn invisible, but which spell could do such a thing would take some thinking. He decided it was best that they stay off the main trails back to the castle, at any rate, and he walked his horse through the thicker parts of the wood, the unicorn happily nuzzling him as they went. The gestures were sweet, and Merlin liked the unconditional affection, but he knew he shouldn’t encourage the bond.

As they came upon the field that flanked the rear of the castle, Merlin heard the familiar clashing of swords and barking of orders that accompanied training. Training. He never would have thought that’d be on for today, but then again, Arthur couldn’t bear to admit that he needed a day off, even after actual battles. He would never permit a night of voluntary debauchery as an excuse for himself (or anyone else, much to Gwaine’s chagrin). Merlin wished, though, that just this once, Arthur had called it all off and stayed hidden in his rooms until…well certainly until later than now.

And yet he longed to see Arthur—especially like this, by spying—so he could study him without being observed himself. From the distance of the trees, all he could really tell was that Arthur lacked his usual energy. He seemed fine otherwise. Had he not cared that Merlin hadn’t been there when he woke up, and hadn’t shown up later for his morning duties? Likely he was glad of Merlin’s absence. This was his world, and if anyone was going to be cast out after the previous night, it would be Merlin. Of course that was true—this was the prince he was talking about—but it still hurt, considering how insignificant he would be if Arthur deemed him so. Arthur wouldn’t even have to tell him himself; he could have the guards seize him when he re-entered the castle grounds and lead him out of Camelot forever.

This being Arthur though, any rash decision might blow over, too. All Merlin had to do was lie low, much like the unicorn at his side. The two of them would be quite a pair—he and this Arthur-ish creature. He realized he needed a name for it, and the likeness was too much for him to resist. But this was a sacred magical creature, too, so the name had to connote respect. Settling on just the right one was easy, once it occurred to him.

“Princess,” Merlin said with a sly smile, thinking how amused Gwaine would be by the idea. It was fitting, certainly. What was more regal than a unicorn? Well, lots of things, maybe, but the name was also so very Arthur.

Princess nudged him at the address, and Merlin knew it would stick.

“Princess it is,” he said. “Now let’s keep moving, but not outside the cover of trees, all right? We need to stay hidden.”

Princess seemed to nod in agreement, and Merlin, proud of the progress they’d made, felt newly optimistic about the afternoon

 

**Game of Horns**

The castle was a bit tricky to get to unnoticed, but Merlin had had plenty of practice sneaking around the grounds. Granted, having a unicorn in tow made things a bit more difficult, but with the aid of a cloak borrowed from the training area and thrown over the creature’s head, the pair of them couldn’t look _that_ suspicious. Besides, this was Merlin. People rarely questioned what he was doing, since assisting the court physician and serving the prince both involved some strange activities, and certainly orders from high up.

So, Merlin, his usual horse, and an unusually blanketed second horse entered the courtyard as a kind of matter of course, or so Merlin hoped.

He wasn’t trying to push his luck, though, and he headed straight for the stables to rid himself of at least one equine. He was hoping no stable hands would be present, but there was Tyr, greeting Merlin with a smile.

“Merlin!” he called, opening the gates.

“Thanks, Tyr,” Merlin said with a grateful nod, hurrying Princess in with his horse. He handed the reins of the black mare to Tyr, who took charge of the horse but stayed wholly enrapt by the stranger, second animal.

“Who’s this, then?” Tyr asked, all curiosity.

“This is…erm…a horse I found while riding,” Merlin said, keeping Princess away from Tyr. “I’ll see to him, though. He’s a bit particular.”

“Why is his head covered? Did something scare him?”

“Yes!” Merlin said, accepting the offered excuse. Then he added, with some gravity, “Bees.”

“Bees?”

“Mmm. It was a horrible scene. A whole swarm came at him, and he ran and bucked for ages, even after the bees had gone. I tried everything, but covering his head was the only thing that calmed him,” Merlin said. Looking at Princess for corroboration but finding him the very picture of tranquility, he added, “He might seem calm now, but remove that cloak and he’ll be kicking at you, me, and everything else in the stable.” Merlin hoped his tone was convincingly anxious.  

“Oh,” Tyr said, his face still full of wondering.

He looked over the creature discovered yet another oddity. “What about his tail?”

“His tail?” Merlin was caught off-guard with that one. The horn had seemed quite enough to worry about. He had to admit, though, that the creature’s tail was a most unnatural shade of red.

“Ah. Well,” Merlin recovered, “you know how the prince likes his horses to be dressed up for ceremonies? I thought maybe we could dye their manes and tails.”

“Dye the horses? Arthur wanted you to try this?” Tyr’s confused tone was giving way to betrayal. “I wonder why he didn’t ask me to do it.”

“Oh, no, he doesn’t know about this,” Merlin added, not having meant to hurt Tyr’s feelings. “I thought I’d try it on my own, and then if it worked, I’d surprise him with it.”

Realizing Tyr wasn’t happy with the answer, Merlin went on, hoping what he said next would be better.

“I would’ve consulted you, but I thought you might disapprove.”

After studying the tail for an uncomfortable moment, Tyr said, “I understand.”

“So, do you approve?” Merlin asked, dumb curiosity derailing him as he admired Princess’s tail.

“I’m not sure. I’d have to see him without his head covered.”

 _Right_ , Merlin thought. Why had he asked Tyr his opinion of the secret unicorn he was trying to smuggle into Camelot? Especially when Tyr was hardly likely to approve of any horse with a heavy cloak thrown over its head. Princess, with neck lowered in strange compliance with Merlin’s order, looked not so much like a majestic wonder as he did a gloomy centaur that was half horse, half dining-room table. And then there was the thick, flowing tail at the far end that bizarrely matched the hue of the massive head shroud.

“Yes, right. I’ll have to bring him by later, then,” Merlin said, leading Princess out of the stable.

“Are you not leaving the horse here, Merlin? In the stables? I can tend to a startled horse, you know!”

“Oh, I know, Tyr; you’re the best! I just want to show Arthur the tail right away, before the dye fades. Wish me luck!”

Merlin punctuated this little speech with what he hoped might pass for a winning grin, and he then turned and hurried himself and Princess toward the castle, the two of them thick as thieves.

 

**One Good Turn…**

Back in their chambers, Gaius hadn’t really been wondering what was keeping Merlin, but he was thinking it was about time the young warlock was getting back, “morning off” or no (and the “or no,” Gaius realized, was more than likely the case).

That boy could cause Gaius several ulcers, if he let him. Luckily, though, Merlin seemed as good at smoothing things over as he was at mucking them up in the first place. It wasn’t as if Gaius panicking through the rough patches would make Merlin more careful, anyway. Of course, Merlin did seem determined to test the very limits of Gaius’s patience (and his credulity, truth be told), but Gaius hoped today would not be a day devoted to such trials.

As the physician sighed with exhaustion (despite a second dose of his mending potion), he heard with both relief and trepidation the telltale hurry of footfalls in the corridor, and Merlin burst in, backwards, urging a sizable horse to follow him. Gaius couldn’t help but notice that this was not just any horse; this one was blinded by copious red fabric that draped over its head.

“Come on, Princess,” Merlin coaxed, and the horse entered the cluttered chambers, looking as ill-suited to the room as his headgear was to him. Merlin quickly closed the door and felt enormous relief until he caught sight of Gaius staring at him, crossing his arms and waiting for an explanation.

“Gaius! I thought you’d be out on your rounds,” Merlin said, eyes wide and startled. “This is—”

“Princess; yes, I heard. The question is, Merlin, what is she doing here.”

“He.”

“What?”

“He: ‘What is _he_ doing here.’ Princess is a male unicorn.”

“Unicorn—Merlin! Have you learnt nothing from the last few days? Unicorns in Camelot mean drought, famine, death! You and Arthur were very lucky to have got away with killing the last one, and now you bring this one into Uther’s very castle? And into _my chambers_ , no less?”

“I know, Gaius,” Merlin said, conciliatory. He took the cloak off the creature and began grooming his mane. “This one just found me in the woods.”

Gaius’s stare deepened.

“I have your herbs,” Merlin offered, hoping to mitigate the circumstances with a reminder of his successful errand.   Gaius’s disapproving eyebrow wouldn’t budge, though.

“He wouldn’t leave me alone! He followed me all the way here. I couldn’t stop him!”

“And it looks like you tried to stop him, too.”

“I did! I tried scolding, evasion, spells; nothing worked! I had to at least protect him if he insisted on coming with me.”

By this point, Gaius had approached Princess, understandably curious about the magical creature. He had never been close to one before.

“But why would you think the castle the best place for him?” Gaius asked. “You have to think, Merlin! What are we going to do with a unicorn in my chambers? People come here all the time seeking help. He simply can’t stay here.”

“Can’t he, Gaius? Just till I figure something out? Where was I to leave him? He’d be killed if anyone else found him, or worse, bound in Uther’s dungeon as some novelty prize. I couldn’t risk it, Gaius. Look at him! Besides, I had to get back. Has Arthur been asking for me?”

“No, he hasn’t. But why would he, Merlin, if he gave you the morning off?”

Merlin smiled sheepishly. The white lie from the morning was hardly a matter of concern now.

“All right, Merlin. He can stay here for an hour while you figure something out, but do hurry. I can’t spend my afternoon babysitting your stray magical pets.”

“Thank you, Gaius! He’ll be gone before you know it!”

“An hour, Merlin!”

“Right! Be back in a jiff!” Merlin added with a too-big smile. He gave Princess’s mane one last brush and headed for the door.

“Oh, and Merlin,” Gaius stopped him. “Why, may I ask, do you call him ‘Princess,’ particularly as he is, in fact, a male unicorn?”

Merlin shrugged his shoulders in mock innocence, then turned on his heel, and slipped out the door.

Gaius, believing his bad luck all too easily, sighed his acceptance of unicorn-watching duties, and figured things could be worse.

“I guess it’s just you and me, Princess,” he said. The unicorn shifted slightly, as if he, too, were resigning himself to the news. Hopefully, Merlin wouldn’t be gone too long.

 

**Kitchen Clutch**

Merlin knew he had little time to lose, but he was going to devote at least a few minutes to investigating Arthur’s past. This question of who Arthur’s previous manservants had been—let alone his lovers, though they may in fact be the same people—was dogging him like a stray unicorn. He headed to the kitchens in the hopes of finding some quick answers. He figured it would also be a good chance to learn what the talk was about the previous night, and what Arthur had been up to so far today.

The kitchen was bustling in anticipation of the diplomatic envoy’s arrival. Queen Annis’s group would be small but worthy of the finest cuisine Uther could muster. Merlin hoped everyone would be too busy to wonder why he was asking about Arthur so much; he usually only griped about it, if he mentioned him at all.

He surveyed the wide room quickly, deciding on the best place to slip into the fold. The person he most longed to talk to—Gwen—was helping knead vats of dough, and he tucked in next to her, grabbing a bowl and pretending to work.

He turned to her with a wide smile. “Hi, Gwen! How was the morning?”

She gave him one of her crooked smirks. “The morning, Merlin? It was hours ago, and it was fine, as was the afternoon. Mind you, we’ve all been working like mad here to get things ready for another banquet. Where have you been?”

“Gaius had me running all over the countryside looking for herbs. It wasn’t any more fun than this; I promise,” he said, scanning the laboring crowd.

“Right. You always manage to get out of the grunt work.”

“Oh, sure, because Arthur never has me muck out the stables or polish every boot in the castle on a whim.”

No one could deny Merlin did more work than almost anyone, but his general cheer and obvious favor made his position enviable. Not a few servants begrudged him his exceptionalism, which would make finding sympathetic confidantes a bit tricky.

He knew Gwen would know a good deal about any royal servant, but he also relied on her respect, since so few people showed him that, and he was nervous that she might suspect the source of his queries. He wasn’t sure what she would think of his wild crush on the prince, let alone his acting on it. He wagered that starting small was the way to go.

“Do you know who saw to Arthur this morning while I was running around for Gaius?”

“Yes; George did,” Gwen said, raising her chin toward a tall, awkward man dressed in stuffy servants’ gear. His appearance was made all the more absurd by Gwen’s easy manner, the soft wisps of hair escaping her braid as she worked the dough.

Merlin sized up George in a glance. The man was certainly serious about his work; snobbish, even, as he judged the polishing job of the girl with the silverware beside him. He bore none of the signs of competence and respectability that Gwen naturally conveyed, though his efforts to seem these things were apparent. Merlin was amused to think of Arthur suffering through this “George’s” ministrations, but he was also a little worried about what George had seen in Arthur’s chambers.

“Well, that must have been a treat,” Merlin said.

Gwen laughed and said, “If so, it was a short one. He was back before anyone had even realized he’d gone.”

Merlin winced, knowing all too well Arthur’s brutal moods, but he was also amused. He couldn’t wait to hear Arthur complain about this George—that is, if Arthur could still be old Arthur, pre-yesterday Arthur, the Arthur whose stomach he hadn’t defiled.

He couldn’t think about those details right not. He didn’t know whether to blush or run away. After last night, who knew what kind of Arthur awaited him? He had to get some sense of that. He took it as a promising sign that Gwen had not accosted him with, “Merlin! The whole castle’s been talking about you and Arthur! Is it true?! Tell me everything!” He realized it was also a good sign that he had neither been arrested nor executed—not yet, anyway. These were definite pluses; there was room to fix things. If George was the worst he had to contend with right now—well, George and a secret unicorn in need of immediate lodging—the situation wasn’t really so bad. George might even be a blessing, since Arthur would be more inclined to brush off last night if doing otherwise would make George his constant companion.

And there it was again, the real issue. (Well, one of them, anyway.) Why assume a servant would be a constant companion? Had all of Arthur’s servants been so fundamental to him, such fixtures at his side that they ended up in his bed, only to be summarily dismissed? He needed to know. It seemed so natural, on the one hand—how could one not fall for Arthur’s wit and good looks, his arrogance tempered by those private, softer moments? But on the other—George? George and Arthur? The idea was more than laughable, and it gave Merlin hope that he wasn’t just one in a string of faces to serve Arthur in every way.

Not being one to wallow, Merlin pressed on.

“Gwen, was George ever assigned to Arthur before? I mean, before I came to Camelot, was he Arthur’s servant?”

He realized the answer to this had to be no, but it seemed a better tack than asking if Arthur slept with all his servants, or if his previous servants had been attractive, or if they were known to prefer men, or if they were all in love with the prince, or were fired once Arthur had had his way with them (or they with him).

“Oh, no. Arthur couldn’t deal with George for even five minutes today. I hardly think either of them would survive a single day.”

Gwen’s answer was what Merlin expected but shorter than he hoped. He would have to push further, but not with Gwen, who could read him like a book.

“Perhaps I should go congratulate him on his morning,” Merlin said, amusing Gwen with one last smile. He was grateful for her friendship—more than anyone’s really, apart from Gaius’s and perhaps Arthur’s, if that was a friendship. He tried to convey his thanks with a fond squeeze of her shoulder as he stepped away. She nodded with a grin, then returned to her large bowl of dough.

****

Gaius and Princess had continued staring at each other long after the sound of Merlin’s footsteps had disappeared from the corridor. Eventually, Gaius had turned to his work, hoping the unicorn would not disturb him. He had also decided to trust from the animal’s calm demeanor that it would not require chasing or reprimand.

The unicorn, for his part, shifted on his hooves occasionally and could even have been said to look a bit bored, Gaius thought. He hadn’t moved from where Merlin had placed him when they entered the chambers, though, admittedly, there was little room available. Gaius felt strangely at ease with the whole predicament, and Princess seemed content to watch Gaius grind his herbs in the pestle.

The quiet work soothed Gaius further, and he found himself getting uncharacteristically sleepy. “That’s odd,” he thought, as he straightened his posture in an attempt to make himself more alert, but his eyelids still grew heavy, and he had to admit that, like it or not, a nap might be upon him. Remembering Princess, he turned to check on the animal once more, and noted the decidedly golden glow to his eyes.

“Princess! Don’t do it, whatever you’re—”

Gaius’s words were cut short by his head falling to his arm on the table. The deep sleep that overcame him prevented him from noticing that the unicorn silently and simply vanished from the room.

****

Merlin approached George with an air of good sportsmanship, as if being Arthur’s servant were a game they both were forced to play.

“So, George,” he said, lazily picking up a fork to examine, “I hear you had to wait on Arthur this morning.”

George started at the address and looked a little suspicious of the attempt to distract him from the business of polishing.

“Yes,” he said, deciding to entertain the dialogue.

“And how did it go?” Merlin asked, lowering his voice as if inviting a secret. “I know Arthur can be difficult at breakfast.”

“Perhaps especially after he’s spent the night drinking,” George responded, turning an accusing eye on Merlin.

“Yes, perhaps,” Merlin agreed, then renewed his query. “So, overall, it was fine, then? As fine as can be expected, I mean? I’m sorry I couldn’t see to him myself.” He was becoming increasingly aware that talking to George might be more fraught than he expected. If the man knew Arthur was drinking all night, what else did he know?

“It’s no problem, really. Although, why couldn’t you? It’s quite curious how you manage to be so unreliable in your duties, yet so good at maintaining your high station. Incidentally, that fork you seem to feel you have polished has more than one blemish in its gleam.”

Annoyed by George’s critiques and ruffled by his implications, Merlin took up the fork from the “finished” pile and began polishing it with more care. It seemed a good tactic to both appease George and gather his own thoughts about how to proceed.

“I’m a better servant than I seem,” he said finally. “And Arthur values the things I do well.”

“Such as?”

“Such as knowing how to improve his bad moods in the morning. How did it go for you? From what I hear, not so well, no matter how many polishing contests you’ve won.”

George keened at the slight but accepted its merit. Merlin was famously the only servant in the castle who could handle Arthur’s moods.

“As you said, it went as well as expected. Do you care to share with a fellow servant who may well have to stand in for you again how best to serve the prince to his liking?”

Merlin couldn’t help but smile at the thought, once again, of George trying “to serve Arthur to his liking,” as Merlin had the night before. He covered his amusement well, though, with a somewhat honest reply. “I really don’t have any secret. I guess I just let him have his tantrums, and it all works out.”

“Tantrums!” George’s lungs seemed to seize at the thought of such a word being applied to royalty, and Merlin needing him breathing if he were going to fill him in on just how well Arthur had liked his other servants.

“Well, his lesser moments, at any rate.”

George seemed to calm at the amended language, and Merlin continued. “Surely, his previous servants were capable of seeing to his morning routine without too much trouble?”

A dubious frown flitted across George’s face, and his polishing turned a shade more vigorous. Was he irritated, Merlin wondered? Jealous? Well, jealousy was what Merlin was trying to squelch in himself, so he certainly could relate. Of course, he was jealous of the servants for things that had nothing to do with the polishing. Part of his secret in serving Arthur in the way George cared about was that Merlin wasn’t concerned with how well the washing was done or the food prepared. If Arthur complained about the state of his clothes, Merlin shrugged and carried on with whatever he considered a priority at the moment. George would probably rip the tunic right off of Arthur—somehow _not_ noticing the finely sculpted torso underneath—and wash it in six kinds of soap before realizing Arthur was furious _and_ undressed.

The torso though, and the chest, and the thighs, and everything in between, these were the things Merlin hoped no other servant had claimed but him. His skin prickled with fear as he realized the information was at hand. One more question and he’d hear something about Arthur’s previous relationships with his manservants. He steeled himself for what was to come, then pressed on.

“Well?”

“It’s hard to say what they were capable of, Merlin.”

This was a decidedly vague and unreassuring response.

“And why is that, George?”

“Because you don’t see any of them around here, do you? Why do you suppose that is?”

Merlin was terrified about why that was, and George seemed to be confirming his fears.

“I don’t know. Who were they?”

 ”Well, let’s see,” George said smugly. “Going backwards, in order, there was: Morris, William, Gavin, Friedrich, another William, Margery—that was a strange week—Charles, Maxwell, Giorgio, Hubert, Roger—”

Merlin’s eyes were like saucers by the time George was halfway through the list, and his mouth hung open in shock. How many servants had Arthur gone through? And what had he done with them all? And where were they all now? The questions only multiplied, and George stood a little taller after making Merlin gawp so.

“—and those were only the ones that lasted more than a week. I can keep going, if you like.”

“No, no,” Merlin said, appalled at the number of partners he had just mentally piled in Arthur’s bed. It was quite a crowd, and he felt sick. A Giorgio? A Margery? This couldn’t be right. “And what happened to them all?” He tried to sound less terrified than he was. Were they fired? Exiled? Beheaded?

“The prince found them wanting, and they were gone. Simple as that.”

Simple as that; hardly.    

“Clearly you’ve got the job figured out, though. He hasn’t found cause to fire you yet, which is astonishing, given the state of the silverware you seem to think you’ve polished. I sincerely shudder at the thought of the prince’s armor in your hands.”

“The prince’s armor has been just fine,” Merlin said, and he tossed his rag on the table, conceding defeat to George, of all people, in this little parlay. He left the kitchens in a far worse mood than he had entered them, with half a mind to storm into Arthur’s chambers, and the other set on not caring at all what Arthur had done with anyone ever again.

 

**You Had _One_ Job, Gaius**

Merlin headed back to Gaius’s chambers trying to think how best to convince him to watch over the unicorn a little longer. He knew Arthur would be needing to dress for Queen Annis’s arrival, and there was no sense putting off seeing him any longer. It would be easier, though, if the issue of the _other_ Princess could be put aside for just a few more hours.

Figuring humility was his most effective strategy, he walked into the room uttering innocently, “Gaius?”

The spot where he had left Princess was vacant, although why he had expected a unicorn to stand still for an hour, he wasn’t sure. Gaius, meanwhile, was lightly snoring at the workbench nearby.

“Gaius!” Merlin called as he hurried through the main room, taking the small flight of stairs at the back in a single leap and finding no magical creature behind the door. He quickly returned to check on Gaius.

“Gaius!” he said, shaking the physician by the shoulder.

Gaius let out a few reluctant groans before consciousness fully seized him, and he sat up, registering what had happened.

“Gaius! Where is Princess?” Merlin asked, his hands still clutching Gaius’s robe.

Gaius realized what the creature had done all too late. He sighed and looked up at Merlin as if the creature’s disappearance had been inevitable.

“What?” Merlin said. “Gaius, you lost my unicorn?”

“ _Your_ unicorn? Merlin, he shouldn’t have been here in the first place. He’s a magical creature! You can hardly expect him to obey your every wish just because that would be convenient for you.”

“But he seemed so docile; I thought it would be fine. What happened, anyway?” Merlin had begun to pace, looking for clues in their chambers.

“Yes; he was docile, indeed—at least until he cast a sleeping spell on me. After that, I couldn’t tell you if he was docile or not. What I can tell you, though, is that you’d better go find him.”

Merlin knew this to be true but collapsed on the bench to collect his thoughts. “Oh, this isn’t good,” he said.

He rubbed his eyes while he rallied himself, then peeked at Gaius with a smirk. “Did he happen to mention where he was going?”

Gaius’s eyebrow was answer enough to that.

“Right,” Merlin said, taking the hint. “I’ll spend the afternoon searching.” He stood up but without real energy, anticipating the trials the day still had in store. “Meanwhile, could you try to find a spell to disguise his horn? If people thought he was a horse, this wouldn’t be such a problem.”

“A horse in my chambers wouldn’t be a problem? A horse _roaming the castle_ wouldn’t be a problem?”

“Well, not as big a problem, right? Gaius, please? A spell to disguise him would really help.”

“Of course I’ll look for one. But you look harder for that unicorn!”

The physician’s acquiescence was just the encouragement Merlin needed.

“I will, Gaius. Thank you!”

Merlin was out the door in his usual hurry, but he stepped back into the room with one last thought.

“Gaius? If he comes back, could you try to keep him here? No more napping on the job, please.” He flashed a quick smile, trusting it to carry the joke. It worked, as Gaius only shook his head in mock annoyance.

“Get going, Merlin. That unicorn isn’t going to find itself.”

Merlin gave a small shrug of his shoulders, as if to say, “He might!” Stranger things had happened. He let the idea hang in the air between them, then turned and went on his way with more of a spring in his step than he probably had a right to, all things considered.

 

**Noble Help**

As urgent a problem as a stray unicorn might be, the issue of having to check in with Arthur was becoming a priority. In his search of the wider corridors that led from Gaius’s chambers, Merlin had bumped into no fewer than three servants who said Arthur was looking for him. That didn’t bode well. He figured a detour to face the prince, if only to dress him for the diplomatic reception, would have to fit into the unicorn’s unpredictable schedule. He sighed with acceptance that there was not much he could do besides see to the princess that he knew how to find first.

He trudged through the castle with more effort than usual, the exertions of last night and this morning catching up with him again. As he reviewed all that had happened so far and all that had yet to be dealt with, he seemed to grow more burdened. He wasn’t aware that as he got closer to Arthur’s room, he had slowed his pace considerably. Nor was he aware that Lancelot had been following him for a short while and was concerned about his distracted friend.

“Merlin,” he finally called quietly.

Merlin turned with gratitude disproportionate to the greeting, recognizing the noble knight’s voice.

“Lancelot, am I glad to see you!”

“Merlin, are you all right?”

“I’m fine, I just....”

Merlin scanned both ends of the corridor and wondered how much he should tell Lancelot.

“First, let me ask you this: Have you seen any”—he paused, readying himself to sound absurd—”animals around?”

“I saw Gwaine at practice, but I might hazard a guess that you do not mean him.”

Merlin smiled. “No, I mean an actual animal.”

“An animal like the griffin you helped me slay?” Lancelot asked, referring to the creature Merlin had all too obviously used magic to kill, but having far too much sense to mention the magical part aloud.

Merlin nodded, guilty. “Sort of, but nicer.”

“That is a relief. What is it?”

Merlin stood close to Lancelot and looked him in the eye. “I’ve lost a unicorn. In the castle.”

Lancelot narrowed his eyes, perplexed.

“You have lost a unicorn? Where did you find one to begin with?”

“I don’t really know. In a field. It’s not important right now. The thing is, he’s roaming the castle, and he’s going to be killed if I don’t find him before the guards do.”

“I was under the impression that you and Arthur were fine with unicorns now, and that that was what we were celebrating last night—the two of you, especially,” he said.

“We were; we _really_ were,” Merlin said, acknowledging his other problem. “But then there was this other unicorn this morning, totally unrelated, and he’s here, in the castle.”

“‘Totally unrelated’? Merlin, you cannot honestly believe that.”

Merlin hadn’t put much thought into what he might believe about Princess, but Lancelot had a point. The timing of Princess’s arrival was more than a little suspicious. Still, whether or not the two were related was unimportant right now.

“Well, related or not, he’s lost and in danger. But I also have to face Arthur, and I don’t even know which problem is worse.”

“Things will be fine with Arthur,” Lancelot assured him. “You face him every day. He will understand your absence this morning.”

“If only that were all,” Merlin said, looking up in despair.

Lancelot gazed at him sympathetically, inviting more information if Merlin chose to give it, but Merlin’s tight-lipped tension let him know that was enough for now.

“Let me help,” Lancelot said. “I can look for the unicorn while you attend to Arthur.”

His words had an immediate effect. Lancelot knew there was almost no one, apart from Gaius, that Merlin could tell his magical problems to, and he was glad to be of service to his friend, especially when the other’s gratitude was so apparent.

“Really, Lance?” Merlin beamed. “That’d be a huge relief! I’ll catch up with you as soon as I can—I promise.”

“All right,” Lance said, preparing to embark on his search. “But wait—can you suggest anything to help me find this unicorn?”

Merlin smiled dubiously. “Not really, but his name is Princess, and he has a bright red tail, and a blond mane, and...and he looks a bit like Arthur, actually.”

“Like Arthur,” Lance laughed. “Well, I suppose I do not need to ask about the name, then.”

“Oh—and Tyr thinks he’s been stung by a mass of bees and had his tail dyed for the honor of the Pendragons or something. And he’s a master at putting people to sleep. He’s also very affectionate and kind of charming, too.”

“All right, Merlin. I will figure it out,” Lancelot said, amused by Merlin’s obvious fondness for the creature, particularly in light of its resemblance to Arthur. “Now, go tend to your prince.”

He started to head toward the main part of the castle but turned with a final word of encouragement for his friend.

“Merlin!—Good luck,” he said, knowing that if Merlin were that apprehensive about seeing Arthur, it had to be because of something big.

“You, too,” Merlin said, grateful but already distracted by his next task. “And thank you!” he called after Lance, as they each hurried to attend to a royal arse.

 

**Arthur, Princess; Princess, Arthur**

Standing outside Arthur’s chambers, gripping the handle, Merlin took a fortifying breath. Telling himself he couldn’t put this off forever, he decided to just walk in and face the prince.

Then he took another breath, exhaling even more heavily.

He realized he could actually freeze time if he wanted to, until he was really ready, but that might be taking things too far. Besides, he would never _really_ be ready. He might as well push his worries aside along with the door.

He entered Arthur’s chamber to find to his enormous relief that Arthur was not there.

Merlin felt like he had just averted a blow, and he walked into the room to assess the chores that awaited him. The room was indeed messy. Apparently George had not risked a second visit after Arthur had dismissed him. Merlin couldn’t blame him, but a clean room would’ve been a welcome surprise.

Still, it was good to have immediate tasks to keep him busy, and he set to work with picking up the clothes that had somehow fallen from the wardrobe. Merlin worked in his usual way, hurrying to fold the tunics into lopsided piles. (Thankfully, Arthur never seemed to mind the relative unkempt quality of his wardrobe compared to Uther’s and Morgana’s. All of his insults about it lacked bite. Merlin could tell when something really bothered Arthur, and Merlin’s housekeeping did not. His sharing Arthur’s bed, however…well, that’s what he was here to find out.)

As Merlin turned to survey the rest of the room, he heard a quiet whinnying from behind the side door. His eyes shot up in recognition of the source. Another sound followed, a kind of forlorn mew, and Merlin’s heart melted.

“Princess!” he said, opening the door.

The majestic creature stepped out at once, thrusting his nose in Merlin’s face, licking his cheek in broad, over-fond swaths. Merlin threw his arms up, half in protest, half in petting, and laughed at the devoted greeting. He had never had a pet before, and the adoration, if not the spittle, was delicious.

“Hello, Princess; hello! I’m glad to see you, too!” he said, calming the unicorn. Princess seemed to quiet, content in the knowledge that he was with Merlin once more.

As Merlin continued to pet the creature, he began to recall recent events.

“Princess, how did you get here? And did you put Gaius to sleep? That wasn’t a nice thing to do.”

Princess looked at Merlin as if to say he was sorry, but that he couldn’t help himself. And Gaius was fine, after all, wasn’t he?

Slightly more concerned, Merlin asked, “Has anyone else seen you?”

Princess swayed his head mildly from one side to the other.

“How did you get here? In Arthur’s chambers, I mean?”

To that, Princess didn’t seem to have a response, and Merlin figured—well, hoped, really—that it was through some sort of magical transport rather than clomping through the castle. Since the alarms hadn’t sounded, this was at least a possibility. But how did Princess know where to go?

As Merlin pondered the logistics of Princess’s travels, the unicorn nuzzled him quietly.

“All right, it’s all right, Princess. We’ll figure this out. But this isn’t safe. You have to listen to me from now on.”

Almost on cue at the acknowledged possibility of discovery, the heavy door to the chamber opened and Arthur walked in. He shut the door behind him before really looking into the room, but it was only a matter of seconds before he stopped dead in his tracks, mouth agape.

Arthur stared at Merlin and Princess, and Merlin and Princess stared at Arthur.

“Arthur!” Merlin said, “I can explain!”

Arthur’s eyes widened, and he gestured for Merlin to go on. He had hoped to find Merlin here so they could talk about the night they’d had together; he was ready for a courageous conversation. But what he was met with was mindboggling, absurd. Merlin was in his chambers all right, but so, apparently, was a unicorn.

“It’s just—this is—I was in the field this morning, and—”

“Merlin!” Arthur was finding his voice.

“Right. Erm, well this is Princess, first of all,” Merlin said, hazarding a glance away from Arthur, whose expressions he was intent on following. Why Arthur might think he was referring to someone other than the unicorn his eyes alighted on, he couldn’t say.

“‘Princess’? Do you think calling it a royal name makes it belong in my chambers? What on earth are you doing with a unicorn, Merlin, and why is it here?!”

“I don’t know, really,” Merlin said, a little apologetic. He didn’t want Arthur mad at him—after all, they had enough to sort between them without this problem, and besides, it wasn’t his fault Princess was here—but he also didn’t want him mad at Princess. How to make this a blameless situation, though, eluded him. “He just kind of followed me from the Forest of Ascetir.”

“The Forest of Ascetir? Is that where you’ve been all day?”

“Yes. Gaius sent me to find herbs, first thing this morning.”

Arthur dropped his gaze. He wasn’t sure how events had transpired, when or in in what kind of mood Merlin had left his bed. One thing was for sure, though: he had left, without a word. And apparently he’d had no problem going about his errands—the ones that didn’t involve Arthur, anyway. Arthur had to stay focused on the problem at hand.

Merlin, too, realized that the morning would be a sticky subject. He hadn’t meant to broach it—not yet, anyway.

“I mean, first thing, after…”

“After you left here, yes. I came in here just now intending to talk to you about last night, but there seems to be a _unicorn_ in my chambers that we might need to discuss first.”

“Arthur…”

Merlin didn’t know what tack to take. He was desperate to know what Arthur had planned to say to him. Arthur looked at him with heat, but as a result of which issue, Merlin couldn’t say.

“Arthur, what were you going to say about last night?”

“ _Mer_ lin,” Arthur said through gritted teeth, “the _unicorn_.”

Merlin sighed and realized Arthur wasn’t quite as at ease with Princess as he was.

“Right, so, this is Princess,” he began again. “He followed me back to Camelot, and he’s just been sort of…appearing. I didn’t bring him into your chambers; he showed up once I got here.”

“You mean to tell me you’re being stalked by a unicorn?”

“Not ‘stalked,’ Arthur—that sounds so nefarious!” Merlin said, giving Princess a soothing smile. “He’s just—”

“And why is he called ‘Princess’?”

“Erm, that just sort of happened. But it’s definitely his name.”

Arthur folded his arms across his chest, dissatisfied.

Merlin decided the name might actually be a good way to get Arthur to warm to the creature.

“Does he remind you of anyone, Arthur?” he asked.

“Why yes, Merlin. The second unicorn I’ve ever seen in my life does indeed remind me of someone—the first one I saw! I happened to kill that one, if you can remember as far back as _yesterday_.”

Merlin moved to cover Princess’s ears, then thought better of it. “I know, Arthur; I know. But I mean, other than the obvious, does he remind you of anyone? His features, I mean?”

Princess looked at Arthur somewhat beseechingly. The look became him.

“Well, he’s certainly a handsome creature, but whoever heard of an ugly unicorn?”

“Handsome is right, Arthur. He takes after someone.”

Arthur was incredulous. He bowed his head and rocked on his feet for a moment, considering. “Do I even want to know what you could mean by that, Merlin? I’m actually horrified to imagine.”

“I mean that he looks like you, Arthur.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just—just look at him. The blond mane, the blue eyes, the perfectly chiseled jaw? The red tail!”

“Merlin, I hope you remember enough of last night to know that I most certainly do not have a tail, red or otherwise.”

It was Merlin’s turn to take offense, cocking his head in mockery.

“Your cape, Arthur, and every other Pendragon-y thing you wear. This unicorn definitely bears a resemblance to you. Even Lancelot thinks so.”

“Lancelot!” Arthur scowled, and Merlin winced. He hadn’t meant to reveal that part. “Merlin! How many people know about Princess?”

“Just Lancelot. And Gaius. And also Tyr, sort of, but he just thinks I’m doing funny things to your horses.”

Arthur’s disbelieving stare only widened. The story got worse as it went on.

“So Tyr thinks you’re doing ‘funny things’ to my horses—which is disturbing enough, mind you—but one of my knights thinks there’s a unicorn in the castle, and that it bears a striking resemblance to me? And Gaius? What does Gaius think?”

Arthur let himself fall onto the bed, his head in his hands. This was all mounting so quickly. In some ways it was refreshing to be the usual Arthur and Merlin bantering about some Camelot crisis, but the situation was certainly distressing in itself. This was uniquely their problem. Or it had been, until a moment ago. Now it was several people’s problem, or a problem that involved several people. And it was just supposed to be him and Merlin. Merlin and him. That’s what the day was meant to be for.

Princess lowered his head to Arthur, his mane catching in Arthur’s hair. Arthur was strangely comforted by the contact, but wasn’t about to let on that he was. Merlin seemed not to notice anyway, as he was busy fumbling with excuses about Gaius.

“Gaius was asleep, mostly, but he thinks—well, he didn’t mean to sleep with Princess around, but—I mean, obviously he doesn’t approve of a unicorn in the castle, but—”

“No, no. Why would anyone, Merlin? Surely you must realize this is bad. Very bad, no matter if Princess is, admittedly, not without some charm,” Arthur added, gazing back up at the unicorn, finally.

Merlin couldn’t help but smile, noting Arthur’s subtle petting of the animal’s silky coat. Arthur was liking Princess, and that was half the battle.

“I do, Arthur, I do realize. But like I said—he just followed me. I didn’t bring him here. He just seems…attached.”

“But why, Merlin?”

Merlin had been thinking about this, especially since Lancelot pointed out that Princess must be related to the adventures of the week. And then it dawned on him: the words Arthur had uttered when he hunted the first unicorn.

Arthur noticed Merlin turn pale, distracted.

“Merlin, what is it?”

“I think I know. I think I know why he’s here.”

“And? Do you care to share? We haven’t got all day! For one thing, you’re supposed to be dressing me for Queen Annis’s arrival.”

“I think it’s related to what happened with the sorcerer testing you at the Labyrinth of Gedref. You had to prove you were noble of heart, and you did, because you were willing to sacrifice yourself for me.”

“Right, but that was supposed to the end of it! Gedref didn’t say anything about taking a unicorn home,” he said.

“Anhora.”

“What?”

“The sorcerer. His name was Anhora.”

“Whatever! He could’ve mentioned this!”

“That’s the thing. I don’t think we would have had to take one home, but after last night, I think Princess kind of…appeared.”

“You think we made a unicorn, Merlin? That’s ridiculous! Do you honestly know so little about sex?”

“You seemed happy enough with my knowledge last night!”

“Well last night you weren’t a blithering idiot!”

“Arthur, I’m telling you, this unicorn is ours! He even looks like you! You said to me, after you killed the first unicorn—which you know you shouldn’t have done—”

“Yes, Merlin, I do remember all this. Again, it _just_ happened!”

“Well, I criticized you for killing it, and you said, ‘We were hunting, that’s what you do. Would you have me bring it home for a pet?’ I think, maybe, they’re making you bring him home for a pet.”

“‘They’ who?”

“Anhora, the unicorns.” Merlin shrugged, then, seeing no reason why not, added, “Gedref.”

Merlin let the theory sit for a while. Finally, Arthur said, “But you said last night had something to do with it.”

“Anhora told me that when you were willing to die for me, you showed what was truly in your heart.”

Arthur shifted uncomfortably at how bare his emotions had been laid by some stranger—and to Merlin—but he didn’t protest.

“I think that when we…acted on that, made it reality, Princess became a marker of it.”

“Why is it just my heart?” Arthur asked, annoyed at any number of things.

“I don’t know. Why does he look like you?” Merlin was smiling, unwilling to soothe Arthur, especially when the ribbing was so easy about this, and so new. But Arthur’s face looked stung. Perhaps he really wanted to hear something about Merlin’s heart, too.

“Well, why is he so attached to you? Why didn’t he find _me_ in a field, if this is all about me?” Arthur asked, almost whining.

Merlin bit his lip to suppress the widening grin.

“What?” Arthur asked, his exasperation growing.

With exaggerated sarcasm, Merlin said, “I don’t know, Arthur. I don’t know why he’s like you and desperately fond of me, or how those two things can possibly be related.”

Princess gave Merlin’s cheek a soft lick, as if to confirm the assessment. Arthur was irritated, jealous, even. He had planned on kissing Merlin, though not quite like that.

“Well, aren’t you lucky? You’re having the time of your life here: the Prince of Camelot one day and the Princess of unicorns the next. And here I thought you were hiding from me today. I was stupid enough to think you were nervous because of what happened.”

Merlin realized he’d let things go too far. He had been deadly nervous, but somehow, talking over the unicorn situation seemed so normal, with the added bonus of a little flirtation, that he’d forgotten the real danger he could be in, and that he really would be devastated if Arthur punished him in some way.

“Arthur, no; it’s not like that,” he said, finally approaching the prince. He knelt down in front of him and tried to look at him earnestly.

“I _was_ nervous. I was terrified! I thought you might have me executed.”

“Executed?” Arthur scoffed, his voice quiet though, inviting Merlin’s new softness.

“Yes; who knows what you might’ve done? When I woke up, I couldn’t bear to think of you hating me, or blaming me, or waking up repulsed that I was there. I just…I just left. I’m sorry.”

“Merlin, I’ve been beside myself all day about this.”

“Me, too, Arthur.”

“Oh really? Because it looks as though you’ve been beside a unicorn.”

“Princess,” Merlin agreed with a smile.

“‘Princess.’ Are you sure Gwaine doesn’t know about him? Because it sounds like he had a hand in the naming.”

“Gwaine definitely doesn’t know, though I can’t promise he had nothing to do with the name.”

Arthur could feel his mood lightening. Having their faces so close, Merlin granting him a rare moment of supplication, it was all reassuring and very pleasing.

He also didn’t mind the name, really; it fit the magical creature somehow, and he took the reference as a kind of homage—even if it was based on a rather irritating knight’s joke at his expense.

“Okay; so what do we do about Princess? I hardly need point out that he can’t stay here.”

“Of course not, no, although…maybe he can stay here just for a few hours? We really ought to get you to the welcoming.”

“And what if Princess follows us there?”

Merlin was worried about this, too, but he couldn’t let Arthur know that. He stood up and turned to Princess, doing his best to assume a severe demeanor.

“Princess,” he said, making his voice unnaturally deep, a finger punctuating his words, “you have to stay here until we get back; do you understand? This is very serious. You. Have. To. Stay.”

Arthur shook his head, amused by Merlin’s supposed commands. He stood up, ready to dress quickly, and with minimal help from Merlin. He didn’t trust himself to feel Merlin’s hands on his skin right now. Besides, the intimacy would be especially weird with someone watching them, even if it was just their pet unicorn.

“All I’ll say, Merlin, is that this better work.”

Merlin couldn’t agree more. About all of it.

 

**Another Feast**

After Arthur dressed, he and Merlin hurried outside to welcome Annis’s entourage. Uther scowled at the pair for their lateness but said nothing. Soon enough, a caravan of horses and carriages entered the courtyard, and Uther and his son stepped forward to offer an official welcome.

The kingdoms of Camelot and Caerleon had not been on friendly terms for many years, but they shared a common enemy in Cenred. A tenuous alliance had existed between them for years, but there was hope that a stronger agreement could be reached during the next few days of treaty talks and social gatherings.

Once greetings were exchanged and the guests were shown to their quarters, Camelot’s knights and ladies started gathering in the great hall. Servants had been setting up the feast for hours, but Gwen, having the honor of being the Lady Morgana’s maid, was able to stand to the side and attend to the more important guests, should they need anything. She was free of conversation when she saw Merlin step into the room, having got back from carrying copious bags up many flights of stairs. He looked harried and sweaty, so she grabbed a napkin and walked towards him quickly.

“Merlin!” She called, and he turned a smile at her, though he seemed distracted.

“How are you?” She said. “You left the kitchen without a word, and I was dying to know what George had said. I was ready for a laugh after all that cooking, you know.”

She touched the napkin to his forehead and he thanked her, taking it and wiping the back of his neck, too.

“Ah, right. Sorry, Gwen. It was getting late and I had to get back to Gaius.”

“Gaius—not Arthur?” Gwen asked, a hint of coyness in her voice.

“Him, too,” Merlin said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. The truth was, he was scanning the room for Arthur as they spoke, and he was sure Gwen knew that and was teasing him.

“I see. You can tell me later,” Gwen said, smoothing his hair down. “I think this is going to be quite the event. Annis has not been here for years. Uther is especially keen for everyone to be at their most impressive and battle ready.”

“Is that right? Well then he shouldn’t have let half the court get falling-down drunk last night. I’m not sure anyone’s ship-shape right now. Not even Uther.”

“I don’t think he’s aware of just how much everyone got up to last night,” she said, laughing at him, he was sure.

“Let’s hope no one tells him, then,” was all Merlin could say. It was certainly what he was thinking; he didn’t need Uther knowing he’d slept with his son. This banquet would be stressful enough with the possibility of a unicorn showing up at any moment. He had to hope Princess at least knew to stay away from the one room in the castle where nearly everyone was assembled.

Merlin finally spotted Arthur in the crowd. It was clear the prince was on edge, his eyes periodically flitting to the corners of the room. He tried to nod pleasantly in conversation, a goblet of mead in his hand, but his distraction was obvious.

 _Princess_ , Merlin thought, _stay away_. He hoped that perhaps unicorns were like druids, and that Princess could hear him telepathically. Not that it would matter. Princess had understood his command to stay with Gaius, and he had simply disobeyed. There was no reason to think now would be any different, except that he really needed it to be.

Merlin tried to stay out of the fray of activity in the room, the better to observe and intervene where needed. He saw Lancelot approach Arthur at one point, and Arthur quickly nod and walk away. He’d have to update Lancelot on what Arthur knew, and also apologize for implicating him in this latest fiasco. An opportunity presented itself immediately, since Lancelot was making his way to Merlin.

“Merlin! Any luck?” he said, his expression hopeful.

“Yes; I found Princess. Thanks again for helping me look.”

“Oh, good,” Lance said, relieved. “Where was he?”

“In Arthur’s room,” Merlin said, drawing out the last word to emphasize his distress.

“Oh. That must have been awkward,” Lance sighed.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Merlin said, taking Lancelot’s goblet. He drank deeply from the cup, then handed it back, empty.

Lancelot, surprised by his friend’s thirst—or perhaps his lack of manners—flipped the goblet upside down. “That bad, eh? Anything else I can do?” he asked.

“Yes, actually. If you see Princess around, could you try to hide him?”

“I think that goes without saying, Merlin.”

After he agreed to the obvious, Lancelot turned towards the crowd in search of another drink.

“I suppose,” Merlin said. “Oh—and Lance—Arthur knows you know.”

Lancelot’s attention snapped back to Merlin. “What?”

Meanwhile, Gwen, ever watchful of the noble knight, had noticed Merlin drain his cup in one rude gulp, and she was coming over to refill it.

“Lancelot! More mead? I see someone’s been helping himself to yours,” she said, smiling accusingly at Merlin.

“Thank you, Gwen,” Lance said, still nervous that Arthur knew not only about Merlin’s magic, but also about Lancelot knowing about it and keeping it from him. His anxiety was apparent.

“Not about _that_ , Lancelot,” Merlin said, realizing what he feared. “About the…the princess, I mean.”

“Oh. That explains his avoiding me, anyway.”

“What princess?” Gwen asked, slightly concerned.

No one wished to worry Gwen.

“Just a princess that’s been after Arthur,” Merlin said, trying to get at Lance’s cup again.

“Oh. And you’ve got something to do with her, Lancelot?”

“Not at all, Gwen,” Lance said, honestly wishing to avoid the whole situation. His sincerity was clear.

“All right,” she said, looking up at him through long lashes. “Don’t let him drink all your mead again. I may not always be watching, you know.”

“My lady, I have yet to repay you for this one. Would that I could be waiting on you instead.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, knowing all too well where this was going. He left them and walked deeper into the room to see how Arthur was doing. Gwen and Lance, needless to say, didn’t even notice him go.

****

Arthur was talking with Queen Annis, and the two were getting along quite well. She distrusted Uther immensely, but was hopeful that prosperous diplomacy would be possible once Arthur was on the throne. She wasn’t about to start planning any coups, but she was prepared to cultivate a friendship with Arthur that could serve them both well in the years to come. She was a young queen and looked forward to a long reign.

Arthur, for his part, felt his dignity renewed by the respect Queen Annis showed him and the topics on which he was able to discourse. It was hard to believe he was the same man who was hiding a unicorn in his chambers. _Princess, stay put_ , he thought, smiling at Annis as she spoke of the new harvesting practices recently brought to Caerleon.

****

Morgana noticed Merlin walking across the room, his eyes, as usual, focused on Arthur. She was dying to accost him.

“Merlin!” she said, stepping in front of him in towering heels and body-clinging silk. She looked devastating, as usual, and she eyed Merlin like a cat that spied a fresh ball of yarn.

“Lady Morgana,” Merlin said with a slight bow. He was nervous about what she might have on her mind, as it was clearly something.

“So formal, Merlin, even after last night?” she asked, raising her cup to her lips. She stopped herself from drinking though, and said, “But wait—we should have a toast! Don’t you think?”

Merlin didn’t know whether to blush or protest, but he took the goblet she thrust in his hand.

“To bedding Arthur,” she whispered with a devious smile.

Merlin would’ve spat mead all over her face if he hadn’t waited to take a sip. Luckily, he just stared at her, utterly dumbstruck. _This is worse than Princess showing up_ , he thought.

“Oh, come on, Merlin,” she said, “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. We’ve all thought about it. Besides, the whole castle thinks you two have been going at it for months. I just happen to know that last night was the first time. And of course I let Gwen in on the secret.”

“Morgana!” Merlin finally said. It wasn’t much, but he had to say something. At least now he understood Gwen’s newfound coyness with him.

Morgana continued her toast. “To you, Merlin, and your conquest. I think this one might stick!” She raised her cup in honor of his royal exploits, then drank all of its contents in one motion, her long neck emphasizing each gulp. Recovering, she said, “So, tell me all the details. What was he like? Was he rough and commanding, or putty in your hands? I’m guessing it was a little of both.” Perverse amusement played in her eyes, and she leaned close to Merlin, waiting to see if he’d answer.

At this point, Merlin really needed the drink, toast or no, and he imbibed his share as quickly as Morgana had done. He chose to ignore her final question and lingered instead on another part of her outrageous speech.

“What do you mean, ‘this one might stick’?” he asked, reminded of George’s laundry list of Arthur’s possible bedfellows. He had been feeling better about things after Arthur met Princess, but now all his doubts were returning, and his humiliation would be all the worse with Morgana teasing him about it and telling the whole castle, too—everyone except Uther. Even Morgana wouldn’t do that.

“Merlin, any fool can see Arthur is crazy about you, and who could blame him? You’re adorable!” She curled her fingers under his chin as she said this, smiling at the undeniability of her words.

“Excuse me,” he grumbled, and tried to walk away. She stopped him, surprised by his sullenness and feeling a little guilty for causing it. She had only meant to tease him a little.

“Oh, Merlin, surely you know you’re special,” she said, genuine affection in her voice.

She looked towards Arthur, where Merlin had been aiming his steps.

“All right, then,” she said. “Go flirt with your prince. That’ll make you feel better.”

She released him from her company and resumed her mischievous smiling as soon as he stepped away.

****

Merlin made his way to the table on the dais where Arthur and Queen Annis were chatting amicably. Arthur gave a slight nod to Merlin to indicate he should bring a fresh pitcher of wine with him. Grabbing one from the far end of the table, Merlin approached the pair. As he walked he became aware that he had never really cooled down from carrying all the guests’ bags, and now his cheeks and ears felt hot. Fretting that he hardly looked his best, and all too keenly aware that Arthur was likely comparing him to all his previous servants, Merlin half hoped he might “stick,” as Morgana had said, and half wanted to tell Arthur where he could stick it.

Arthur was of course unaware of Merlin’s inner turmoil and slight intoxication, so he ascribed Merlin’s nervous demeanor to the obvious—the fact that they were hiding a unicorn in the castle and desperately hoping it would stay hidden. Since he had to be at his formal best in front of Queen Annis, he quietly nodded his acknowledgment to Merlin and gestured for him to refresh the queen’s cup.

Meanwhile, Lancelot and Guinevere continued their too-polite flirting, she swaying from side to side, leaning into him a little too much, twirling the ends of her hair, he smiling gallantly, if that’s possible, and being his ever-agreeable self.

Suddenly, Lancelot’s serene dreaminess was interrupted by shock; he saw, to his consternation, the head of a unicorn peering out from a nearby arras. He sprang into action, rushing to the tapestry and extending its reach to hide Princess from the rest of the room. Guinevere, of course, noticed all this. She was right behind him as he ushered the unicorn back towards the wall.

She gasped wordlessly and covered her mouth, looking up at Lancelot for a clue about how to react beyond that. He clearly knew the creature, although she heard him say,

“You are Princess, I take it?”

The creature was good enough to keep quiet, and Lancelot continued the inquiry.

“How did you get here? There is no door on this wall. And what are you doing here? You need to be hidden; don’t you understand?”

From what Gwen could tell, the creature looked contrite if steadfast.

“Lancelot…” she said, hoping that would prompt him to say something to someone who could actually speak. He turned to her, nervous and unsure how to proceed. He ran a hand through his hair and said simply, “Guinevere.”

“Lancelot,” she repeated, “is this really a unicorn? And what is it doing here? More importantly, what do you have to do with it?”

“Nothing; I have nothing to do with it. It is…a friend’s unicorn.”

“Merlin,” she said, smirking and shaking her head in disapproval. “And what is he doing with a unicorn? Didn’t he and Arthur just solve our unicorn problems?”

“It would appear not, although Merlin fails to see the connection between the first unicorn and this one.”

“Does he, now,” she said, petting Princess and helping shield the animal from the crowd. “And does Arthur know about this one? That there is a unicorn inside the castle?”

“I believe he might,” Lancelot answered, realizing how little he knew about what was going on. He at least was sure that for everyone’s benefit, they had to keep Princess hidden.

“One other thing, Lance,” Gwen said with crinkled brow, studying the unicorn’s physique. “Why did you call this animal ‘Princess’ if he’s so obviously a male?”

Lancelot looked alternately at Princess and Arthur, then quirked an eyebrow at Gwen. It took a minute for the resemblance to register, but when it did, Lancelot knew, for Gwen’s hand flew to her mouth, and her eyes were wide with amusement. The pair laughed quietly together, each with a hand on Princess’s mane.

****

“Well, what’s all this, then?” Gwaine said, as he sauntered over to Gwen and Lancelot, gesturing at the bizarre way they were clinging to a tapestry that was hanging haphazardly from the ceiling. “You two look like you’ve swallowed a goldfish. Is the back of Gwen’s dress torn open or something? What are you hiding?”

“Gwaine!” they responded in unison. Chiding him further was unnecessary, though, as he had already forced himself between them.

“Whoa! Are you giving Uther a unicorn? Terrible idea, Lance, if you ask me”

“Certainly not, Gwaine; we are trying to hide him from Uther, if you could not tell. We would appreciate it if you could assist us in doing that, rather than doing your best to expose the situation.”

“I suppose I could,” Gwaine said, “if you tell me what you’re doing with him. Smuggling unicorns through the castle isn’t very noble, you know.”

Lancelot leveled a sober stare at Gwaine, but its only effect was to give Gwaine a moment to think.

A smile of realization crossed his lips and he said, “This has Merlin written all over it; am I wrong?”

“More of Arthur, actually, if you really take a look,” Gwen said.

Accepting Gwen’s dare, Gwaine stepped behind the arras.

“Well, I’ll be damned if this doesn’t look like the princess himself! Oh, there’s definitely a story behind this!”

“I’ll bet there is! I’m not sure I want to hear it, though,” Gwen joked.

Lancelot, as was typical, did not join in the mocking. He was more concerned for his friend than he was amused by the situation. After all, if Princess was discovered, no matter how much it might have to do with Arthur, Merlin would be the one punished. Merlin and Princess.

“Ssh,” he scolded Gwen and Gwaine, trying to quiet their laughter, which was growing noticeable to those close by.

“Lancelot!” Gwaine laughed, incredulous, “Merlin and Arthur seem to have solved our unicorn-killing famine problem by having one of their own!”

“I am quite aware of that, Gwaine, but I am also aware that this could get both Merlin and Princess killed, so we must be quiet, and beyond that, we must get Princess out of here.”

“Wait—his name is really Princess?” Gwaine whispered, in deference to Lancelot’s warning. He would never forgive himself if he exposed the greatest friend he’d ever had to the king’s wrath. “Who named him?”

After a pregnant pause, Lancelot admitted, “Merlin.”

Gwaine smiled the broadest, proudest grin Lancelot had ever seen on him, including after victories on the battlefield. “Good old Merlin,” Gwaine said. “I hope Arthur likes it.”

At that, Princess got a little ornery and started trotting in place behind the wall of knights and maid and tapestry. It was a commotion that would be noticed by many, even in a hall full of carousers. Uther, unfortunately, was one of them, and summoned George from where he stood at the ready. The servant made his way to the king with the greatest haste, stopping for no one, including the servants trying to make their way through the hall with an enormous roast on a carving board.

He bowed to the king and said, “At your service, sire.”

Uther, who had been looming near Arthur and Annis, tried to be subtle in his commands, but they caught Arthur’s attention immediately.

“Go and see what that commotion is in the corner. If I am not mistaken, I’m hearing _horses_ in my hall right now, and if that is the case, someone will be in the dungeons before another sip of wine passes my lips. My court will not be sullied by some prankster.”

“Very good, my lord,” George said, bowing too deeply and too long for Uther’s liking. Arthur, meanwhile, had cast his eyes at the source of the clamor, and, seeing Lancelot awkwardly fumbling in the fray, guessed the cause.

“Father, I’ll see to this myself,” he said to the king, with George frozen like a long, thin table between them, not knowing what next to do.

“Queen Annis,” Arthur said, turning to the stately woman, “Will you forgive my rudeness in taking my leave of you now? I am sure you would appreciate more time to speak with the king, after all. I’ve enjoyed our conversation very much, and I hope to continue it soon.”

“Of course, Prince Arthur,” Annis said, though she wished she could be spared a lengthy dialogue with the temperamental king. “We all have our duties to attend to,” she added, politely nodding her dismissal, aware that she must work with Uther as best she could for the time being. It might be many years before matters of state were squarely in Arthur’s hands.

Uther was grateful for the invitation to talk privately with the great queen, and George was grateful to have the king’s attention directed at someone else so that he might recover his posture.

Once upright, George found himself standing next to a dumbfounded Merlin who was clutching Arthur’s hastily abandoned cup.

“Boy,” Uther commanded, “Do not forget your duties just because my son is through dining,” and he tapped the rim of his goblet. Merlin nodded and poured the wine, almost gasping for air. He hoped Arthur would be able to take care of the Princess problem for now, and that Uther would not notice anything too amiss. Luckily, Uther always found Merlin a bumbling, incompetent servant, so his current state of nervous distraction would likely go unremarked, except by way of apology to Queen Annis.

“I do apologize for the clumsiness of this servant, Queen Annis, but I’m afraid my son insists upon his continued employment here, though no one can fathom why.”

“Not exactly ‘no one,’” George said under his breath.

“I’m sure he is valuable, Uther, if Arthur judges him so, even if pouring wine is not a talent he possesses.”

“Nor, apparently, is making himself presentable to serve our most important guest in many years,” Uther said, eyeing Merlin with distaste from head to foot. He turned a smile on Annis, though, hoping the compliment would go far at the negotiating table.

The two seemed to forget Merlin, then, thankfully, but he felt all the more uncomfortable with having his disheveled appearance pointed out by the king. George was only too ready to add to his misery.

“He has a point, you know. Did you go out of your way to look especially shabby tonight? Really. We all carried bags, you know. Some of us are able to moderate our activities so as to maintain the decorum becoming of a royal servant.”

“Well, you do things your way, and I’ll do them mine,” Merlin said, chafing with irritation.

“Yes, I believe I shall. That way, I’ll avoid being another name on that long, unfortunate list of Arthur’s former servants.”

Merlin stared into the distance and took a deliberate breath, trying to avoid hurling George into a stone column with a flick of his hand. That would only make things worse, of course, performing magic at the feast, right in front of Uther, while a unicorn was making its way towards him from across the room, all of his friends in tow. Best to let George’s taunts go unchallenged, even if deep in his bones he felt the need to charge over to Arthur and hold him answerable to George’s accusations, to tell him who _William_ and _Roger_ and _Giorgio_ were, and where he himself fit in.

“George,” Merlin said, “since you are so superior at all things _servant_ , why don’t you wait on Uther and Annis for me? I’m sure Uther will love having your rather large nose up his arse while he tries to talk diplomacy.”

Merlin shoved the jug into the hands of a very affronted George and walked away swiftly, still holding Arthur’s goblet. He paused in his path towards Princess when he saw just how large the commotion had grown.

****

Morgana watched as Arthur approached Lancelot, Gwen, Gwaine, and whatever small army was hiding behind the heavy tapestry, and she smelled mischief. She skipped over to the group, brimming with the anticipation of learning just what was going on that shouldn’t be. She knew if Arthur was that intent on dealing with something himself, it had to do with him, and then, most certainly, with his night with Merlin.

“And what are we conspiring about over here?” she asked, almost bouncing on her toes with curious glee.

“We’re not conspiring, Morgana. Go curl your hair or something and please, leave us,” Arthur said, having not yet had the chance to assess things for himself.

“Curl my hair? Arthur, are you really so distracted that you don’t notice my hair is straight tonight? Besides, whatever is going on over here is much more interesting. Isn’t it, Gwen?” she asked, winking at her maid.

Gwen was not willing to get involved in a royal dispute, no matter how petty, and she neutrally stood her place at Lance’s side, shuffling only a little to keep Princess’s nose from peeking out from behind her back. Her movements were large enough, though, to give Arthur and Morgana pause as they looked at her, awaiting a response.

Lancelot, eager to help his maid on her awkward precipice, pretended to lose his own balance slightly, leaning into her and then steadying her, saying, “I’m sorry, Guinevere; my footing seems to have slipped.”

“Speaking of ‘footing,’” Morgana said, “Have I drunk too much or did I hear a horse’s footsteps coming from this direction?”

“Oh, you most definitely didn’t hear _a horse_ , my lady,” Gwaine said.

“You didn’t hear anything,” Arthur scoffed with impatience. “Can everyone just…disperse? This is ridiculous!”

No one moved, though, especially not Lancelot and Gwen, who seemed glued to their spots and to the curtain that they clung to.

“Oh, I can’t wait to see this!” Morgana said as she thrust past Gwen and behind the arras.

“Oh my god!!” she said, in a whispered exclamation. “Arthur, what on earth have you been up to? Last night must have been even more outrageous than I thought!”

Arthur pushed between Gwen and Lance to confront Morgana, though he stood gaping for a second at Princess, overcome, again, with the insanity of his predicament, being faced with a unicorn—his unicorn—inside the walls of Camelot. He wasn’t about to explain to Morgana and Lancelot and Gwen and _Gwaine_ , of all people, how this had come about.

“Look, Morgana,” he said through his teeth, “you say one word about this—one _word_ —and I’ll tell my father that you give him your sleeping draughts when you want to sneak out of the castle at night.”

Morgana giggled at Arthur’s attempt to intimidate her.

“I’ll say nothing only if you tell me how one night in bed with Merlin gets you a baby unicorn.”

“Morgana!” Arthur hissed.

“There’s more than one of us who’d like to know that, Princess,” Gwaine said, to which Arthur and the unicorn turned in unison.

Arthur was the one who spoke, though: “Gwaine, I promise you that your next words will be your last!” He raised a finger in Gwaine’s face as he said this, but it did nothing to quell the amusement of those around him.

Morgana was only encouraged by Arthur’s escalating frustration. “However it happened,” she said, “I must say Merlin begot you a pretty one, even if he does look too much like you.”

“Merlin didn’t beget me anything! Now if you could all just….” Arthur didn’t know what he needed them to do. He needed to talk to Princess, to urge him to vanish from the scene, but he couldn’t bring himself to address the creature in front of everyone. He also realized Gwen and Lancelot were the only two people capable of hiding the unicorn under these circumstances, and he didn’t really want to see them go.

Morgana, meanwhile, had begun to dote on the unicorn, quieting him, thankfully. He seemed quite taken with her, and very quickly, too, Arthur noted with some jealousy. She cooed at Princess and said, “How did you get here, you beautiful thing? Don’t you know the king won’t be at all fond of you? You really need to vanish from here, as much as I’d hate to see you go.”

Arthur was struggling for words with which to chide Morgana—words that wouldn’t upset the unicorn—when he heard his father announce his approach.

“Arthur!” the king bellowed, “I asked you to enforce discipline, not further compromise it! Tell me at once what all this is about!”

Lancelot and Guinevere bowed to the king as much as they could without exposing the unicorn behind them, and Arthur stepped forward to answer his father’s addresses. He hoped to stop him from advancing further, too.

“Father,” Arthur began, “it’s a simple matter of people having perhaps a little too much to drink at the banquet. It’s hardly a matter worthy of your attention, particularly with important guests to attend to.”

“I would agree, Arthur, but I couldn’t help but notice the priceless wall hangings of half the room coming down. Lancelot, I’m disappointed that you are a part of this.”

Lancelot looked truly repentant, but before he could say a word, Morgana stepped out from behind the stilled tapestry. She was giving Uther her most conciliatory look, which she knew she could count on.

“My lord, I wish I hadn’t disturbed your evening. I seemed to have gotten my heel caught in this tapestry, and Gwen and Lancelot were helping me get free without causing damage to the priceless fabric.”

Gwen and Lance looked on in cautious agreement, knowing better than to speak out of turn.

“And you?” he asked of Gwaine. “What were you doing all the while?”

“Oh, I helped in my own way,” he said.

“Well, he was laughing at me, of course,” Morgana said, “but that’s all right. We all laugh at him whenever he tries to swing a sword.”

Uther frowned but said nothing. Gwaine bowed to him with a crooked smile that Arthur reminded himself to reprimand him for later. For now, though, his main worry was Uther, who was moving to examine the tapestry. Arthur could hardly breathe.

When Uther shifted the tapestry aside, to the shock of all but Morgana, there was nothing behind it; Princess had disappeared. Arthur, Lancelot, and Gwen heaved a sigh of relief, then bid their quick farewells as Uther, huffing his annoyance at having been troubled for nothing, strode back towards Annis.

Merlin, who had been watching the antics from halfway across the room, exhaled even more deeply. He felt his tension ease, but only briefly. He shook his head in thankful disbelief that Princess was no longer behind the curtain, then hurried the contents of Arthur’s goblet down his throat, wishing he had more to fortify him in the face of what was still to come.

 

**Georges and Giorgios**

Merlin got back to Arthur’s chambers first, though he was hoping Princess had beaten him there. Where had the unicorn vanished to? What if he showed up in Uther’s chambers? Or the dungeons? Or Kilgarrah’s cave? There were just too many places to look, and Merlin paced as if the faster he walked, the faster Princess would find his way back to him.

Arthur arrived shortly after and scanned the room, also looking for their large, magical pet. When it was clear Princess wasn’t there, he gnashed his teeth for a moment and let his patience wear even thinner.

“Merlin,” he finally uttered, “Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin said between nibbles on a cuticle.

“Well, stop wearing a hole in my floor with your pacing and _look_ for him! We can’t exactly have a unicorn loose in the castle, can we?”

“How would I know where to look, Arthur? He just vanished! He could be anywhere! Here was my best guess, and it was obviously wrong.”

Arthur conceded the point. He didn’t know where one would look, either, and if Princess came back to his chambers and found them empty, it could be even worse.

“What made him disappear, anyway?” Merlin asked, finally finding a reason to stop moving.

“I don’t know,” Arthur said, studying the floor as he thought. “Perhaps he sensed the danger of being discovered by my father.”

“Perhaps,” Merlin said, an air of doubt in his voice, “but if he can vanish whenever he likes, maybe he doesn’t feel that endangered.”

“Well, maybe he doesn’t want to see you endangered.”

“Me? Why just me?” Merlin asked with some heat. “This is your problem, too.”

“Yes, Merlin, but I am the _prince_. That does come with some privileges, like not being accused of consorting with magical creatures.”

“And you’d just sit by while I was beheaded?” Merlin asked, letting his body fall back against Arthur’s wardrobe. He slumped there with shoulders hunched, realizing just how many things he might get beheaded for; the unicorn was only the beginning. What about his own magic? That same old worry had been buried beneath these new ones, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t still a very real problem.

“Calm down, Merlin,” Arthur chided, attributing Merlin’s overreaction to the drinks he’d obviously helped himself to. “No one is getting beheaded. We just need to find Princess and get him out of Camelot before that’s even a risk.”

Merlin had nothing to say, not knowing where to begin looking for Princess, how they’d get him out of Camelot—and for good— or how he could confront the prince about his feelings when he was hiding so much, too. It all seemed hopeless, and the combination of wine and mead playing in his head and his stomach only made things worse.

It didn’t take long for Merlin’s silence to turn Arthur from distractedly thinking of solutions to focusing solely on his manservant. He never liked when Merlin was troubled, especially silently. Merlin had a way of knowing things that made his silences feel like doom, and Arthur couldn’t abide that. He always put his faith in positive outcomes, believing that what was noble and right would prevail. He also couldn’t bear to see Merlin in despair, even if it was just because he’d drunk too much.

He thought back on what triggered this current fit of woe so that he might talk Merlin out of it. It was ridiculous that this was the same man who’d been teasing him about “what’s really in his heart” just a few hours earlier.

“Fine, Merlin. Do you need to hear me say it? I would not sit idly by while my father had you beheaded.”

Merlin raised his eyes toward Arthur, but he kept his head low. He looked like a pouting child, but with his hair well-mussed from the day and his lips reddened from the wine, he also looked quite alluring. Arthur resisted the urge to close the distance between them, unable to figure out Merlin’s moods and motivations. He needed him to say more.

“Can’t you hear how ridiculous that sounds? This can’t be what’s bothering you. And if it’s about last night, maybe we should talk when you’ve not been sneaking drinks the whole night, because this isn’t how we left things this afternoon, Merlin, and I don’t know what’s happened, other than us losing a unicorn, which certainly shouldn’t have you upset _with me_.”

The accusation of drunkenness roused Merlin to his own defense, and he stood taller. It was true that he’d had a drink or two, but it was only enough to keep him buzzing just above all the tension around himself and Arthur and their unicorn. And, as odd as it may seem, he was most concerned about Arthur. Princess seemed able to take care of himself, but Merlin wasn’t sure he could survive without Arthur. Maybe he was a little drunk, after all. He felt awfully maudlin in his love for the prince, and uncharacteristically on the verge of a Morgana-like tirade.

“What?” Arthur said, having expected Merlin’s resumption of something like posture to be accompanied by words. “Were you going to say something, or were you leaving to look for your unicorn?”

“ _Our_ unicorn, Arthur; _ours_! That is what’s bothering me, Arthur, and I’m not drunk,” he said, swallowing the end of his sentence. “At least not so much that I don’t know what I’m saying, what I’m feeling.”

“What you’re feeling? Well, then, let’s hear it, Merlin! I’m all ears, though that’s usually your role, isn’t it?”

“Now you’re making fun of how I look? I know I’m a shabby mess right now—George and Uther and everybody else couldn’t stop telling me—but my ears are just fine! And it’s incredibly original of you to make fun of them anyway. Just brilliant, sire, really.”

“Merlin, that wasn’t an ear joke, you idiot!”

“Erm, as you so generously pointed out, I have ears that let me hear very well, thank you, and it was.”

“No, it wasn’t. It was a comment about how what I feel gets told to you by every sorcerer and unicorn that comes along, but you—no one knows what you feel, Merlin. You never shut up, but you also never say anything that means anything. For once in your life, Merlin, _say_ something. Just say it.”

While Arthur spoke, he stepped closer to Merlin, the heated argument drawing them closer to each other. The lack of distance didn’t cool his anger, though. He wanted Merlin to speak more than he wanted to kiss the reddened lips, which were parted in surprise and heightened emotion.

Merlin took notice of Arthur’s gaze, his new proximity. He was so close, so furious and commanding. He looked from the prince’s eyes to his mouth and back again, and knew he had to comply.

“Arthur, I…” he began, retreating a fraction of a step while he tried to gather his thoughts. The gesture diffused the tension somewhat, but he knew a moment of truth had come. A moment of _some_ truth, anyway.

“I don’t feel safe, exactly, telling you things,” he said slowly, one hand rubbing the back of his neck with nervous force.

Arthur threw his hands up in disbelief. “Merlin, I took _poison_ for you yesterday; we spent _the night_ together, and contrary to your ridiculous fears, I did not execute you for it. In fact, I’ve only wanted it more! And you know what? Apparently we’ve had a bloody unicorn together! I think I’ve more than earned your trust. Gods, you act as if you have some massive hideous secret! It’s a simple question, Merlin: What do you have to say about last night?”

“It wasn’t really poison,” Merlin said.

“What?”

“Anhora’s cup—it wasn’t really filled with poison. It was just a sleeping draught—”

“Merlin, I swear I will—”

The wave of Arthur’s finger in his face was enough of a threat to scare Merlin into an apology.

“I know, I know; you’re right, Arthur,” he said, holding his hand out to calm the prince. “You’ve been amazing, and I don’t just mean last night.”

Arthur quirked a smile but did not interrupt.

“And you haven’t killed me, and that’s really lovely.”

“Yes, aren’t I the gentleman.”

‘Look—it’s a real point in your favor. I wouldn’t argue,” Merlin said, realizing Arthur couldn’t know why it was so worth tallying.

“Fair enough,” Arthur conceded, too much lightness in his voice to be believed. “If that’s how little you think of me, should I command you to get on with it?”

“Arthur, you _are_ the prince, and I _am_ just a servant, and obviously that’s going to matter, especially since this is your usual set-up with your servants, isn’t it? What does it matter what I feel?” Merlin said, feeling himself getting a bit teary.

“What do you mean, ‘my usual set-up’? I’ve never had anyone like you before in my life!”

“Oh, but you’ve had lots to compare me to, haven’t you?” Merlin’s voice was getting louder.

“What do you mean ‘had lots’?”

“Quit asking what I mean by what I mean!”

“You’re not making any sense, Merlin.”

“How many servants have you had, Arthur? How many!”

“What difference does it make?” Arthur’s anger was becoming a match for Merlin’s. “There was another one here this morning. Are you jealous of him? If you’d been here, where you were supposed to be—for more reasons than one, I might add—that insufferable bore wouldn’t have had to serve me.”

“No, I’m not jealous of George. But they weren’t all Georges, Arthur. Some of them were _Giorgios_!” Merlin waved his hands, miming the exotic allure of a Giorgio.

“So what if they were?” Arthur snapped.

“‘So?’ So! So what was he like?”

“What was who like? What was _Giorgio_ like? How should I know! I can’t remember!”

“Oh, you would remember, Arthur.”

“And how do you know, Merlin?” Arthur asked through a small, crooked smile, suddenly realizing what Merlin thought the problem was. “Did you have a night with Giorgio yourself?”

“Arthur!”

Arthur laughed a little more easily. Clearly he enjoyed the turn the conversation had taken. A jealous Merlin was more than a little adorable, and certainly easy to pacify when Arthur finally felt ready to end his suffering.

“What of it, Merlin? So I once had a manservant named Giorgio.”

“Stop saying that so wistfully!”

“What, ‘Giorgio?’”

“Stop it!”

“Well, maybe if you’d seen him, you’d know it’s impossible not to.”

Merlin had heard enough of Giorgio, and it wasn’t like there was a shortage of others to ask about.

“And one named _Margery_? What on earth was that about, Arthur? A woman as your manservant?”

“Now, that was odd,” Arthur reflected. “There had been a crisis with the harvest, and all the men were needed in the fields. My father felt I should go without a servant, but it seemed preposterous I should draw my own bath when there were perfectly good serving girls on hand.”

“Serving _girls_? This is just getting better and better.”

“Oh, Merlin. Are you honestly worried about this?”

“Who wouldn’t be, Arthur? The whole castle gossips about your exploits, how you toss us all aside in the end to gods know where!”

“Who would dare gossip about the prince?”

“Get a clue, Arthur.”

“The lowly servants have nothing better to do than wish they knew what went on in my bed? Perhaps their work isn’t enough to occupy them.”

“I don’t know, Arthur, or maybe it’s just that you seem to like them _lowly_. We servants have to tell each other about you to protect ourselves.”

“And here we go again with the ‘protecting yourself.’ You know it’s your and every other servant’s wish to be invited to my bed.”

“You wish, Arthur! Not everyone thinks a royal prat is such a prize, especially when your servants go missing once you’ve had your fill of them.”

Arthur was huffing out breaths, incredulous. “I could have you killed for talking to me this way!”

“Don’t I know it. This is how we met—me pointing out what an arse you are to your servants—”

“—and me trying to kill you. I should have. Would’ve saved myself a lot of trouble.”

“You couldn’t have if you wanted to.”

“You know, Giorgio never gave me this kind of lip.”

“Oh yeah? What kind did he give you? Apparently, however good it was, it wasn’t enough for you to keep him!”

Arthur’s eyes bulged with anger. He wanted to hurt Merlin, wanted him to feel the frustration and idiocy of this whole argument. He was the prince, with privileges, and servants _were_ lower. These were facts, not his arrogance.

“What do you think happened to him, Merlin?”

“Execution? Banishment? How should I know! I doubt it was happiness and prosperity.”

“Well he deserved much better than you do. He certainly didn’t want to irritate me at every opportunity, as you seem bent on doing.”

Merlin finally didn’t have a retort. He crossed his arms and pouted, as if mad at himself for being out of smart answers.

Arthur continued, wanting to needle him further.

“You want to know what Giorgio was like? _Giorgio_ was very happy to make me happy.”

Merlin’s seething increased. Arthur continued.

“He was a man of very special talents.”

“I’m a man of very special talents,” Merlin hissed.

“Oh, yeah?” Arthur asked, doubtful. “What are these talents? I’ve yet to see them.”

Merlin thought of all the magic he’d done in front of Arthur. _For_ Arthur.

“You have, Arthur. You just don’t notice.”

Arthur thought he’d noticed plenty, and had told Merlin so. Everyone had told Merlin of Arthur’s noticing him—even random sorcerers in the forest.

“You know I do,” he finally said. “I’ve been trying to tell you this all day.”

Merlin stayed where he was, sulking against the wardrobe.

Arthur had had it. “You should go,” he said.

Merlin sighed, wondering how it had all gone so very wrong, and he turned to leave. His progress to the door was impeded, though, by a large unicorn, their very own Princess, who must have appeared some minutes before.

“Princess!” Merlin said, holding his arms out in greeting, then petting the creature with relief and gratitude.

Arthur stepped forward, forgetting his argument with Merlin in the face of this magical visitor, already familiar and protective of him.

“Where have you been, Princess?” Arthur said in the voice of a scolding parent. He didn’t like hearing himself that way, but the role seemed to come to him naturally, unfortunately—probably because of something to do with his father.

Princess, who had been nuzzling Merlin, stopped to bow submissively to the prince. Arthur had seen the move before, had done it himself a few times to the king.

“Look, you’re not fooling anyone. And this isn’t a game. You cannot by any means be discovered by more people than you already have been,” he lectured.

Merlin continued to pet Princess, feeling the need more than ever for the creature’s boundless affection. It was a great comfort while Arthur’s insults still rang in his ears.

“Tell him, Merlin.”

Merlin tried to compose himself, thinking thoughts a lot less complicated than the previous moment, and it felt good.

“Yes, Princess; he’s right. What you did—showing up at the banquet, that was madness. It was dangerous. How did you know when to get out of there, anyway?”

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. Before any of them could move, the door swung open and Morgana waltzed in, still draped in silks, but ones different from those she’d worn to the banquet.

“So this is where he’s escaped to,” she said. “Can’t say I blame him. No doubt he interrupted a very interesting scene.”

She smiled suggestively at the pair of them until she realized they ought to have been in a far more compromising position.

“Why aren’t you two—” she began.

“Morgana, what are you doing here? And could you close the door?” Arthur asked, irritation apparent in his whispered yell.

“I came to find Princess! He’s been with me since the feast, you know. If you’d like, I can take him for the night. Unicorn eyes on you might spoil the mood, if you can get back to normal, I mean.”

“Morgana! Whatever you think you’re seeing or doing or interrupting here, just forget it!”

“Oh, so I’m not seeing the love-child unicorn of Camelot’s prince and his manservant?”

“Morgana!!”

Arthur was incapable of forming any words beside that one, it seemed. Morgana, on the other hand, was full of them, and brimming with laughter, too. Merlin stayed where he was, petting Princess and hoping he would be left out of it.

“Come on, Princess,” Morgana said. “We’ll know when they’re done and ready for you to come back.”

Morgana and Princess headed for the door, and Arthur said, “Morgana—that unicorn is going back to the forest tomorrow.”

“Are you really so cold that you call him ‘that unicorn’? You’re a very lucky man, Arthur Pendragon, and you don’t even know the half of it.”

Her smile was a little too knowing for Arthur’s liking, and he wished to make plain his authority.

“‘That unicorn’ is Princess, Morgana, and regardless of how any of us may feel about him, he cannot stay here one more day. Do I make myself clear?”

“Quite,” she said, then paused in her exit before reaching the door.

“Arthur?” she asked, her voice now void of all mocking and condescension. “Can I ask: Why must Princess go?”

“Why? He’s a unicorn, Morgana. He’s a magical creature, in Camelot.”

“So that’s why? The magic?” she said.

“Yes. Magic in all its forms is against the law, as you well know. If you had any regard for Princess, you’d understand that his very nature makes Camelot an unsafe place for him.”

“I see,” Morgana said, thoughtful, but with something daring rising in her eyes as they met Arthur’s.

Her jaw shifted slightly as she took a breath. Then she asked, “Do you think Princess is the only magical creature in Camelot right now, Arthur?”

“What?” he answered, losing patience with what seemed a rehearsal of rather obvious facts until now.

Merlin was hanging on the moment, unable to breathe. He had no idea what Morgana was up to, but he was terrified she had found out about his magic and was going to tell Arthur, all just so she could keep the unicorn at the castle.

Finally, frustrated, Arthur said, “Well, this is the one I know about right now, and he’s my responsibility. I’m not going to see him hurt, and that’s final. He leaves Camelot at dawn.”

“Arthur, what if I told you I know of other magical beings, right here in the castle?” Morgana asked, causing Merlin more anxiety than all of Arthur’s taunts combined.

“Morgana—” Merlin said, hoping to stop her from saying anything else, no matter what it might be.

“It’s all right, Merlin,” she said. “I want to do this. Princess has risked his neck to be here. He thinks Arthur can love magic, and I do, too.”

“Morgana, this is insane,” Arthur said, running his hands over his face to collect himself. It had been a long night, and this was all too surreal: Merlin, Morgana, and a unicorn in his chamber with him, talking about magic. “Get out of here before you say things I have to report,” he finished, hoping the finality in his voice would bring an end to the conversation.  

But Morgana didn’t budge. Instead, she said, “Wait, Arthur,” beseeching him to hear her out. She didn’t say more, though. With a slow and deliberate motion, she raised her palm towards an unlit candle and stared at it intensely. Then she whispered, “ _Lichte_.”

A small flame ignited on the wick of the candle, and Morgana smiled, perhaps involuntarily, and looked at Arthur, hopeful, nervous. He was also staring at flame, his face frozen in shock.

The four of them stood there—Arthur, aghast; Merlin, terrified but vastly impressed by Morgana’s boldness; Morgana, courageous, ready; and Princess, hovering near Merlin, sweet and quiet—all knowing the moment’s tension would only be resolved by Arthur’s response. Everyone waited, including Arthur.  

Morgana lowered her arm. Arthur’s muscles relaxed a bit, and his mouth closed as he turned away.

“Morgana, what was that?” he asked, finally, his voice strangely calm.

“It was magic, Arthur.”

“I know that. I mean....” He took a few aimless steps, trying to work out his restlessness and his thoughts. “I mean, how did you do it?”

“I don’t know exactly. For a while, I’ve had a sense of things like this inside me, but I was afraid of them. Princess has helped me see that they’re beautiful, though, Arthur! Magic can be beautiful!” Morgana was beaming, happier than Arthur had ever seen her.

“That’s...that’s amazing, Morgana,” he said, sounding as if he was deciding the words were true as he spoke them.

“It _is_?” Merlin said, disbelief dragging the last syllable into a long, high note.

“Yes! Did you not see that?”

“I can’t believe you’re okay with this,” Merlin said, searching Arthur’s face for clues to the contrary.

“I’m harboring a unicorn in my chambers right now. I hardly think it’s the time to be judging anyone.”

Morgana laughed, thrilled that Arthur could find pleasure in the candle’s magical flame. Princess purred at Arthur’s proclamation and gave a slow, fond blink to Morgana that Arthur noticed. It made sense to Arthur that this strange, fiery creature he’d grown up with could get a gift like this from a unicorn.

Morgana and Arthur seemed to be bonding over her little display, and Merlin felt left out, particularly as this was meant to be his moment with Arthur. If anyone was ever going to confess to having magic to the prince—much less be adored for it—it was supposed to be him.

The thought emboldened him.

“Well, then, let me show you something,” he said.

He held out his hand, gauging its height with exaggerated calculation, as if he needed to get it just so.

“What’s the word, Morgana?” he asked innocently, not taking his eyes off his palm.

“ _Lichte_ ,” she said, eager to see his results.

“Don’t be stupid, Merlin,” Arthur chided. “You can barely use a flint.” He returned to his conversation with Morgana. “So this is why Princess likes you so much,” he said. “You were able to tell him to leave the banquet, to get him to listen!” It was all making sense.

“Yes! Princess is wonderful!”

“So you can be tamed, Princess,” Arthur said with relief, turning to the unicorn. “It just takes a little help from Morgana!”

“Arthur!” Merlin said through clenched teeth, his arm still outstretched. “ _Lichte!_ ”

He bid the flame be especially beautiful. It swayed in his palm with a gentle rhythm, a mix of yellows and oranges with a dash of blue, and he looked at Arthur, eager for a healthy share of enthusiasm and praise.

Arthur stared, his mouth hanging open with incredulity, his body sill facing Morgana. He thought for a moment about how Merlin (of all people) could have done that, then looked at Princess. Accusation was in his eyes for a while, but then his expression changed as a new thought occurred to him. He turned his gaze on his own palm and he held it out, uttering a commanding, “ _Lichte!_ ”

Nothing happened.

“ _Lichte._ _Lichte!_ ” he repeated, flourishing his arm a bit, hoping the added gesture would urge a flame into existence. Impatient, he turned to Princess.

“Come on, Princess! You’ve given them a bit of magic! How about me? I’m the prince! Merlin is just a servant!”

Princess lowered his head, whinnying a bit and edging closer to Merlin.

“Maybe he thinks you’re not ready, Arthur,” Morgana said.

“Maybe there’s another trial,” Merlin said, annoyed at Arthur’s return to elitist snobbery. He was happy to go along with Arthur’s premise, though, that all the magic in the room was owing to Princess.

“I’m tired of trials!” Arthur said. “Enough already. Tomorrow morning, we are bringing Princess into the forest and we are summoning Anhora. He better have answers for us, and take Princess to a proper home.”

Morgana pouted at the last part, hating to see her new friend go, but she understood.

“Very well, Arthur. Shall I leave him here with you two, then, on his last night?”

“Merlin was just leaving, actually,” Arthur said. “Princess, I assume, will go wherever he wants.”

Morgana looked at Merlin, saddened by the extent of the lovers’ quarrel. The look she exchanged with him told her not to pursue the topic, and, after Merlin’s far more impressive demonstration, she thought it best to go with it.

“Very well,” she said. “Good night, Arthur,” and walked out of the room, hoping Merlin would stay behind, despite Arthur’s words. He was so close on her heels, though, that he nearly stepped on her dressing gown. There would be no repeat in Arthur’s chambers of the night before, to everyone’s chagrin.  

Princess, oddly, stayed in the room. Arthur stared at the creature as he tried to process the many revelations that had confronted him, including the fact that Merlin wasn’t going to spend the night with him, wasn’t even going to help him out of his boots and tunic.

 

**Lazy Daisy Spells and Service**

Arthur barely slept that night, and he blamed Merlin for his tossing and turning. If Merlin hadn’t left without doing his job, Arthur would be both comfortable and asleep.

Of course, the occasional neighing and clomping from Princess wasn’t helping, but the creature refused to leave. Arthur had pleaded, but Princess just gazed at Arthur, seeming ready to wait an eternity for him to soften.

At some point, Arthur must’ve fallen asleep, because he was awakened by long licks from Princess up the length of his cheek. He grimaced in disgust, but Princess was persistent, and Arthur was won over. He laughed as he said half-heartedly, “Enough,” rubbing Princess’s nose to quell him. “I suppose you’re my wake-up call today. Let’s get ready to get you out of here.”

Arthur dragged himself out of bed with a sigh, but Princess walked with him over to his dressing screen, which made him feel more grateful to be awake.

“You’re already being a more helpful manservant than Merlin, but I doubt you can prepare my outfit for riding to the forest, unfortunately.”

Princess tucked his horn under a tunic that hung over the screen, then brought it down into Arthur’s hands. He looked up at Arthur, shaking his blond mane out of his eyes and awaiting a compliment, it seemed.

“Thank you, Princess. That was very helpful. Let’s not try that with my trousers, though, eh? Lest you poke some very unfortunate holes in them.”

Princess bowed and backed away a little, giving Arthur the space to sort his own clothing.

Once Arthur was dressed, he turned to Princess. “How do I look?” he said, and the unicorn seemed to smile.

There was a knock at the door, followed by Merlin’s entrance. He came in and studied the prince and Princess for a moment, then said, “You two look well.”

Despite his compliment, he began grooming Princess, using Arthur’s comb on the unicorn’s mane and tail. Arthur almost protested, but he actually liked the effect. He thought a royal unicorn deserved to be groomed by royal brushes, besides. And if he was going to be seen with Princess at his side, why not have the creature look worthy of the prince of Camelot?

This thought led Arthur to another: what were they going to do about being seen?

“Merlin,” he said, “how are we going to get Princess out of Camelot unseen?”

“I’ve already thought of that. I think I can cast—”

He cut himself off there, hesitating to say “a spell,” unsure that what Arthur said last night about magic was still what he felt about it. He knew enough to keep Gaius out of it at any rate, even though Gaius was the one who taught him the spell when he got back to his chambers the night before.

“What can you cast? Some sort of spell?”

“Erm, maybe. Do you think it would be all right?”

“If you can do it, Merlin, you should do it. We can’t be caught with a unicorn.”

“Okay. I can disguise him, I think.”

“You think? You’re not just going to throw a blanket over him, are you? I don’t think that would fool many people beyond Tyr.”

“No, I mean, a genuine spell. It will work,” Merlin said, with more confidence.

Arthur considered Merlin carefully, debating about continuing the conversation when, really, every minute they waited was endangering themselves and Princess further.

“Fine. Do it,” Arthur commanded coldly.

Merlin was nervous, but he had already done the hard part—performed magic in front of Arthur for the first time. Now, he just had to manage Arthur’s reaction to the true extent of his magic. This wasn’t the time, though.

Merlin uttered a series of strange words in a low voice, his hand directed at Princess, his eyes glowing gold. Arthur hadn’t noticed the gold in his eyes last night—there had been so much to look at—but the effect was striking. Arthur felt chills spread over his body in a wave, as if the magic affected him, too. Princess looked unchanged to him, though. He felt a strong urge to see Merlin do magic again, to study the intense gold of his eyes once more. It had been beautiful, awe-inspiring, and Arthur both loved and resented it.

“Come on,” Merlin said, sullen and leading the way out of Arthur’s chambers. Princess followed, and then Arthur. Arthur hoped they wouldn’t encounter anyone on the way, but he also hoped they would so that he could see if the spell really worked.

“Merlin,” he finally thought to ask, “What is he disguised as?”

“A horse,” Merlin said.

Right. Perhaps it was best that they didn’t come across anyone, especially while inside the castle.

****

Luck seemed to be on their side, because they made their way out of the castle without having to explain why they were taking a horse on an indoor walk.

Once in the courtyard, they found their horses ready. Arthur looked at Merlin with surprise.

“I readied them before I came to your room. I knew we’d be in a hurry.”

“Good thinking, Merlin,” Arthur said, begrudging the compliment but meaning it.

Once they were beyond the wall surrounding the lower town, Arthur decided it was time to talk. Merlin couldn’t escape the conversation, and he had a lot of explaining to do.

“Merlin, this thing with the magic, it’s not really to do with Princess, is it?” Technically, this was a question, but Arthur said it as a statement as he held the reins of his horse in one hand and turned to Merlin.

Their slow pace was conducive to discussion, and it gave Arthur time to study Merlin’s face as he had some kind of internal battle with himself.

“Merlin, answer me.”

“Not exactly, Arthur,” Merlin said, sadness overcoming him, all hope of Arthur’s love and trust slipping away.

“Go on. I want to hear it. All of it,” Arthur said. His manner was stern, but not unkind. He waited patiently, not taking his eyes away from Merlin for a second.

“I’ve had magic since before Princess, Arthur. Since birth, actually—I was born with it. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t try to have it as some kind of rebellion, and I hate keeping it a secret, especially from you, but how could I not? It’s illegal under penalty of death! And I use it for good—only for good. Only to save your life a few times a month, if you must know.”

“My life? Don’t flatter yourself, Merlin. I’ve been trained to _fight_ since birth. I’m undefeated in the tournaments of the five kingdoms.”

“All I’m saying is that it might be more than you saw last night—a lot more—but it’s not bad, and it actually helps you, so you shouldn’t hate it.”

“I don’t hate it.”

“You don’t like it.”

“It’s certainly helped us this morning,” Arthur pointed out. “Of course, it’s also probably the reason we’re in this mess.”

“ _We_ are the reason we’re in this mess, Arthur. Not just you, and not just me. Why can’t you see that?”

“Well, why do you attract unicorns like fleas?”

“Maybe that part does have to do with the magic! But it’s not all my fault. It’s not.”

Princess, who was leading the way, stopped at this point and turned to them. He stared, immobile, waiting for something, some reconciliation.

“It’s all right, Princess,” Merlin said. “We’re glad you found us, and we’re going to get you safe and to a good home.”

Princess didn’t move. Merlin looked at Arthur, gesturing for him to throw in a few words of encouragement as well.

“It’s true, Princess. We’re…glad you’re here.”

When Princess still didn’t budge, Arthur added with more sincerity, “I was very grateful for your company last night and this morning. And now I am hoping to do you a good turn, too.”

Princess nodded his approval, then turned and continued along the path, leaving Merlin and Arthur to resume their conversation. Arthur looked at Merlin, rolling his eyes at the little scene Princess had just needed, urging Merlin to agree. Merlin laughed soundlessly, his smile a sweet sight to Arthur, who really hoped the servant’s magic wouldn’t be that big a deal. It certainly seemed natural enough to co-exist with magic these last few days, and on this rather picturesque trot through the forest.

Suddenly, Merlin remembered his anger at Arthur’s inconsistencies and superiority. His smile became a disapproving frown, with the added annoyance of having been tricked into camaraderie for a moment.

With the disappearance of Merlin’s smile, Arthur was reminded of his own irritation at being lied to, and at being left out of the whole magic thing, and at Merlin thinking Arthur slept with all his servants—any of them, really, except for Merlin. And, regardless, how could he actually just walk out of his chambers after the night he had already shown him?

Arthur rode on, frustrated and confused. Merlin’s unusual silence only made him feel worse, but at least they were making their way to the part of the forest where they had seen Anhora before.

****

Princess, seeming to know just the right spot, ended their march through the forest with a reverent pause, his tail flicking nervously.

Arthur and Merlin dismounted, then walked along either side of Princess, both petting him sadly.

“Well, I suppose with your magic you know how to summon Anhora?” Arthur sounded more jealous than he’d meant to, and tried to play it off as impatience, crossing his arms and waiting.

“I think he’ll come if I call him, yes.” Merlin looked at Arthur, trying to assess if he should say more, then decided against it.

“Anhora!!” he called into the distance. “Anhora!”

“That doesn’t seem very magical,” Arthur said, his brow crinkled. “I could’ve yelled the man’s name.”

“But you didn’t,” Merlin said.

Arthur huffed and took a few aimless steps, ready for an interruption, even from a sorcerer. _Another_ sorcerer.

“No. I guess non-magical people don’t think of such complicated tactics.”

“What are you upset about, Arthur? If it was Morgana here, you’d be cooing over her magic. Because it’s me, it’s annoying?”

Arthur snarled, tossing his head testily at the same time. He realized Merlin had a point, though.

“What?” he said.

“Morgana—you said she was amazing. I did more than light a candle—I held fire in my palm, and I disguised Princess all the way through the castle. Why aren’t I ‘amazing’?”

“Merlin…”

Arthur thought Merlin was amazing, but his having magic was annoying. It was getting in the way of everything else they had to work out.

“What? Why is mine different?”

“Forget the magic, Merlin. Why were you going to leave last night, even before Morgana came in?”

“Because you’re a selfish, elitist prat, that’s why!”

“Then why were you with me the night before?”

“Because sometimes I forget that you’re like that. Sometimes I think that you’re—never mind. It doesn’t matter. You showed your true colors last night, and I won’t forget again.”

“Merlin, you’re infuriating!”

“Well, that makes two of us!”

“I am the Prince of Camelot—and don’t you ever forget _that_.”

“Don’t worry, _sire_ ; no chance of that happening again.”

Merlin stormed down the path, away from Arthur and Princess. How could this be his predicament? How could he be so smitten with such an arse?

From another direction, Anhora approached Arthur and the unicorn.

“Arthur Pendragon,” he began with a rasp, “I had hoped we wouldn’t be seeing each other again for some time.”

“As had I, Anhora, but apparently you sent us a unicorn, so here we are.”

“I did not send you a unicorn; this creature was borne of the love you acknowledged, a love that banishes all markers of class and status. You, who may one day be the greatest king this land has ever known, has forged a union with one whom many might see as your inferior, but you do not.”

“Yes, he does!” Merlin called out.

“Merlin, stay out of this,” Arthur said. “I’ll handle it.”

“Princess, come on,” Merlin said. “Arthur’s got magic to deal with.”

“Did you really name this creature ‘Princess’?” Anhora asked.

“We did.”

“ _Merlin_ did.”

“And you _liked_ it!” Merlin shouted without turning back.

“Enough,” Anhora said. “The unicorn obviously claims the name. You’ve done well with him. He’s been well looked after.”

“Thank you,” Arthur said. He watched Princess and Merlin stroll down the path, then turned back to Anhora.

“We were hoping you could give him a proper unicorn home for us,” he said, trying to give the words a serious ring.

“I might, Arthur, but first we need to talk.”

Arthur nodded soberly and stepped closer to the sorcerer, repositioning himself so Merlin and Princess were in his view. Merlin walked with his hand on the animal’s side. There was a sadness in his shuffling feet. He was losing a beautiful, magical creature that loved him purely, made him feel loved the way Arthur hoped to, sometimes. For a passing moment, Arthur wished that he could be more like Princess in that way, less fiery in his reactions to Merlin, but Merlin was so changeable himself. He could be wise and strong, clumsy and irresponsible, funny and rude, more devoted than anyone. And deeply, powerfully beautiful. But he was an idiot; he was Arthur’s idiot. It would take an act of magic to not bicker with Merlin several times a day, at least.

“Prince Arthur,” Anhora began, “Why does Emrys’s magic bother you?’

“Excuse me? _Emrys_?” Arthur said, his face comically disbelieving.

“Yes; Emrys. That is what the druids call Merlin. He’s a much-admired sorcerer.”

“ _Merlin_ is?” Arthur’s neck couldn’t take many more revelations about Merlin. One more word and it might snap. “That’s ridiculous!”

“Why, Arthur? It makes perfect sense that the person most important to you is as special as you are yourself.”

“‘Most important to me’? That’s going a little far, isn’t it?”

“Is it, Arthur?”

Arthur was annoyed, again, at how blatantly his feelings were out in the open. They were walking around in the form of a multi-colored unicorn—a unicorn that Merlin was soothing just a short distance away. He felt exposed, small.

“It’s just that I thought he was special in a useless-yet-indispensable servant kind of way, not as someone worthy of awe, and I don’t want to be in awe of him. People are meant to be in awe of me.”

“Arthur, we’ve been over your hubris.”

“I know, but he was special because...because he’s Merlin. Not because of this.”

“He’ll be glad to hear that, you know. He doesn’t wish to be judged as a sorcerer, by you or Uther or anyone.”

“Well, we will definitely not be letting my father know about any of this, which is why you need to keep Princess. He’s not safe in Camelot; you can’t want him there.”

“He is yours and Merlin’s, Arthur, but I will take him on one condition: that you try to stay pure of heart. Do not let Merlin’s magic interfere with the nobility of your feelings. What fate has made of each of you should only enhance your connection, not hinder it.”

Arthur considered Anhora’s words and tried to recall when he felt most noble. It was in the moments when he put his people first; when he accepted the gauntlet ahead of his knights; when he helped the druid boy escape; when he drank poison to save Merlin. Precious, bumbling, non-magical Merlin, who, it turns out, was even more worth saving than Arthur realized, and it would take work to get used to that.

He didn’t like that other people found Merlin special—so special they gave him a hallowed name. It was absurd.

“Arthur,” Anhora said, seeming to read the prince’s mind, “Do not be petulant. You must work to become the noble prince and king that your people deserve. And you must trust Merlin to help you do so.”

“Why do I need help? Doesn’t he have to also face trials if he’s so special?”

“More than you’ll ever know, Arthur. Merlin is not for you to envy; he is as burdened as you by fate. He lives in Camelot as a sorcerer, a servant in the royal family, constantly fearing discovery and death. Would you envy that position?”

Arthur hadn’t thought of that. It was a helpful perspective.

He gazed at Merlin and Princess for a long while, trying to focus on the naturalness of their bond, the way Merlin’s magic had helped bring about this lovely creature, one that they were now to bid farewell. It was their duty, and Arthur was nothing if not dutiful. He found courage in the very notion.

He nodded to Anhora finally and said, “Thank you.”

Merlin and Princess had been looking on from afar and started to make their way back when it seemed the two had finished talking. They walked no more quickly than they had before, reluctance in every step.

Arthur became aware of a pressure behind his eyes as he watched them approach, though he wasn’t sure on what account. He walked to meet them and held out both hands to greet Princess as soon as the creature was within reach.

“Princess, I’m sorry you have to go,” he said. He rested his head on Princess’s, and Merlin couldn’t distinguish their strands of blond hair. He bit his lip as he looked on, his two Arthurs bidding each other goodbye.

Princess was pushing softly against Arthur so that he almost lost his balance. He laughed a little through a teary smile that Merlin caught a glimpse of. He’d already had his own emotional goodbye with Princess; watching this one was even harder.

“Anhora,” he said, one hand on the unicorn, protective. “Can Princess come back? To visit us, I mean?”

“That will be up to the King of Camelot,” Anhora said.

“My father will never allow it,” Arthur said.

“No, but you might,” Merlin said, hoping Arthur might excuse his reference to Uther’s eventual death for the good of seeing Princess again.

“Perhaps, a long time from now, though,” Arthur conceded, patting the animal’s neck as he swallowed his acceptance of the coming separation.

“Of course,” Merlin said, not wishing to bring Uther into things.

Merlin turned and pressed a small kiss to the unicorn’s head. He also whispered something in his ear, Arthur noted. Then he patted his mane, urging him to go on to Anhora. Arthur let him go as well.

They stood and watched the sorcerer leave with their unicorn, disappearing into the thick of the trees, headed to they knew not where. Once there was no sign of Princess, Merlin started walking towards the horses to ready them for the journey back.

“Merlin, wait,” Arthur said.

Merlin stopped and turned, not in the mood for fighting, or even answering questions. He didn’t ask Arthur what he wanted.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said. “About the magic. You’re right; it’s amazing. More amazing on you than anyone,” he added, looking at Merlin through wide eyes that wanted to say more.

Merlin nodded, unsure of the cause of the prince’s change of heart, but too sad to pursue the discussion. He continued on to the horses, hoping Princess would be all right until they could see him again, hoping Arthur meant what he said.

 

**Treaties**

For the first quarter or so of the ride or so back, they spoke little to each other, though the way they let their horses’ paths interweave was a sign of some reconciliation, Arthur thought.

‘We did the right thing, you know,” he said finally, looking ahead to Merlin, who had passed close at his side when the trees narrowed.

“With Princess, you mean,” Merlin said without looking over his shoulder.

“Yeah. He’ll be safe with Anhora.”

“In their unicorn world?”

“I suppose so,” Arthur said, detecting a smile in Merlin’s tone. “What do you think it’s like there?”

“Oh, I imagine they get up to all sorts of trouble, and Anhora has to run around scolding them all day. Maybe when we see them in our part of the forest, it’s only because they’ve put him to sleep.”

“Like Princess did with Gaius,” Arthur said.

“Yes! Those two would have loads to talk about,” Merlin said, amused enough at the thought to turn laughing eyes on Arthur, free of other, less pleasant emotions. “We should bring Gaius next time we visit. They can compare notes.”

Arthur watched as Merlin loosely guided the reins, natural and mindless. When he had first come to Camelot, he hadn’t ridden a horse before and was not very good at it. Arthur’s smile quirked its own meaning.

“What?” Merlin asked, noticing the hint of a thought on Arthur’s face.

“You. When did you learn how to ride without getting sick?”

“I wasn’t sick from the horse, Arthur.”

“Well, it was either that or your lousy cooking. I’d go with the horse if I were you.”

“Please. Without me you would starve on those trips. You’d slice a potato with a sword, and your knights aren’t much better.”

“Oh yeah, and how do you do it, _Emrys_?”

The smile vanished from Merlin’s face and he pulled on the reins.

“Anhora told you,” he said, his voice low.

“What of it? I should know your name, Merlin. I know everything else about you.”

“It’s not my name,” Merlin said, the words piling against each other in anger.

“Well, the druids seem to think it is.”

“It’s just what they call me; I don’t know why. But I’m Merlin, Arthur; don’t call me some weird, distant name.”

“All right, Merlin it is, but I would’ve thought you’d welcome me calling you something else for a change.”

Merlin cast a sidelong glance at Arthur, allowing the joke, and gave his mare a soft kick for her to resume her pace.

“So how would _Mer_ lin slice a potato?” Arthur asked.

“If you’re looking? With a knife.”

“And if I’m not?”

Merlin let his smile broaden, liking Arthur’s new curiosity.

“Come on,” he said, “You’re going to be late for the treaty-signing.” He clicked his tongue and gave a proper dig of his heels to his horse, and they bolted.

“So that’s how it is,” Arthur said, loving the challenge. He brought his horse to a gallop and was soon passing Merlin, daring him to catch up as he looked back smiling. The wind danced in his hair, and seemed to strip away worries as it blew.

They raced all the way back to the castle, fully enjoying the brightness of the day. When Tyr asked them if they had been chased, they exchanged looks, each judging his own appearance from the other’s sweaty hair and flushed face.

“Training exercises,” Arthur said. “Merlin’s riding is still rubbish. I can’t have a servant that refuses to ride above a trot.”

“I thought Merlin was good with the horses, sire,” Tyr said. “Only yesterday he was breaking a wild one for you, not to mention saving him from bees. Even dyed his tail!”

“Yes, he did, didn’t he,” Arthur said, then turned to Merlin. “I prefer you leave any future equine matters to Tyr, Merlin. Is that understood?”

Tyr looked pleased with this recognition of his field of expertise from the prince, but Merlin was less so.

“Unless it has to do with mucking out the stables, I suppose.”

“Yes, Merlin. You’re always welcome to muck out the stables. For now, though, I require your services elsewhere.”

Merlin shrugged at Tyr, then walked off after the prince, knowing he needed to get cleaned up and changed before the meeting, but hoping there might be more to it than that.

When they arrived at his chambers, Arthur said, “We are in a hurry, as you said, but I do want to finish our conversation from last night.”

As he spoke, he pulled off his tunic and boots, and Merlin started pouring water for the bath. He would have to thank Gwen later for making sure all the casks were ready when they got back to the castle. With only slight hesitation, Merlin held his hand over the water and warmed it with magic, but Arthur didn’t notice anyway.

“I haven’t forgotten your ridiculous accusations about how I treat my servants, Merlin.” Arthur was about to remove his trousers when he realized this might not be the best time to protest any sexual attraction to servants, when the one kneeling in front of him filling the basin was watching him so intently. His body was responding quickly, too. This definitely wasn’t the time. He turned away to remove his trousers, but it was too late: Merlin had noticed.

“Don’t tell me you’re shy now,” Merlin said, standing and placing a hand on Arthur’s waist, gently urging him to turn around. “You’ve pranced around here completely starkers for months, knowing you look like a god.”

“I don’t prance, Merlin,” Arthur said, bending over to finish undressing. Merlin was only teasing him, because if there was no time to talk, there was definitely no time to _not_ talk. Still, he had longed for Merlin to be playful with him, flirty. Why did it have to be now, with people waiting downstairs, and his own blood already pumping from the ride? He stepped into the tub but not out of Merlin’s persistent hands. They followed his body as it eased itself into the water.

Merlin tried to rein in his desire, aware that he was still unsure of his place with Arthur. His fingers pulsed small circles on the prince’s skin while he thought, which only made the temptation that much harder to resist. The firmness of Arthur’s muscles was impossible not to trace further, and he let his hands run over Arthur’s shoulders and back, then around to his chest. Arthur leaned into the caresses to encourage him, and Merlin began pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses on Arthur’s neck.

The effect was impossibly arousing, all of this attention, the muscles of his legs massaged by the warm water, Merlin holding him from behind, the wetness of his mouth mingling with the small moans that came from the back of his throat. Arthur let his own hand slip down to his cock, and he gave it a few long strokes. The whole set-up was delicious, more than enough, but Merlin moved his right hand down Arthur’s chest, pressed firmly on the muscles of his stomach, his hip, and made his way to Arthur’s thigh.

He loved feeling Arthur’s body like this; not just to wash it and pretend he didn’t notice its sculpted perfection, but to study its contours, to let his fingers worship it with lust and affection. It was intoxicating. He pushed his hand between Arthur’s thighs, starting low, his hand a caressing cup, his thumb massaging the base of Arthur’s length, just below the surface of the warm water.

Arthur was still stroking himself, but just enough to keep up the sense of friction. He wanted Merlin to keep going. He wanted to feel him take him fully in hand, to bring him off with wet, commanding strokes. When he felt Merlin’s fingers move over his own, then over the tip and sliding back down, he let his head fall back, giving in completely.

Merlin was still sucking dirty kisses along Arthur’s throat, and this gave him more access. His mouth moved under Arthur’s jaw, licked its way under his ear, enjoying every press of heat, every angle of Arthur’s neck.

As he kissed him, he increased the pressure of his strokes, each finger applying just the right tightness to make Arthur moan through an open mouth. His legs drew up from the impossible coil of tension Merlin had worked him into, and he moaned, “I’m—”

His head jerked up as his came, the white shot through Merlin’s hand followed by less urgent release over it as he was finishing, breathing hard. Merlin planted a few kisses on his shoulder, softer now, more chaste. He rinsed his hand in the water, then leaned back on his heels, staying crouched behind the prince.

Arthur turned with a stupid grin, and Merlin, despite his concerns, was glad he’d done it.

“I look like a god, eh?” Arthur said.

Maybe Merlin wasn’t so glad.

“Is that what you were just thinking about? You’re the worst!”

“Is that what _you_ were just thinking about?” Arthur asked, eyeing Merlin coyly.

“You’re an arse.”

“I think you like it that way.”

“No; I like _your arse_. There’s a difference.”

“I knew it,” Arthur said, leaning in for a kiss. The water glistening on his skin was begging to be licked off, but Merlin resisted, standing up quickly and walking to grab a drying cloth.

Arthur pursed his lips in frustration at the denial. He stood up and dumped a fresh pitcher of water over his head, cleaning his hair and face, and rinsing the rest of him off with water that hadn’t been sullied.

“Hey!” Merlin protested, “I’ll be cleaning that up all afternoon! You’ve got water everywhere.”

“Can’t you just magic it up or disguise it as a horse or something?”

Merlin quirked his head at Arthur, unamused.

“That’s not what magic is for, Arthur.” He sounded disturbingly like Gaius.

“What is it for then? Killing people and making unicorns? There’s no in between?”

“I don’t use my magic like that, Arthur. Besides, it’s illegal under penalty of death, if you remember. Not exactly wise to go about the castle doing random bits of magic.”

“So you’ve never done magic in the castle?” Arthur said sarcastically.

He had taken the cloth from Merlin by this point and was drying himself hastily. Merlin was fumbling with Arthur’s clothes looking for something appropriate for him to wear. Arthur took the trousers hanging on his screen from the day before.

“Maybe not ‘never,’ but only if you were in trouble.”

“Only if I was in trouble?”

“I use it for you, you prat. You’d be dead ten times over if I didn’t. So yes, once or twice in the castle.”

“For me? Well, then, clean my floor for me! We’ve got a treaty-signing to attend.”

“You’re impossible,” Merlin said, but he was relieved the prince was becoming comfortable with the idea of his magic.

Merlin held out a red tunic for Arthur, deciding it was the least wrinkled of his shirts. Arthur approached him, half-dressed, and kept moving into Merlin’s space, throwing the tunic on the bed. Merlin let him, but his body was tensing. He hadn’t relaxed from the bath he’d given Arthur, and he only wanted his arousal to go away, not be encouraged.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, putting his hands at Merlin’s waist. “Why don’t you let me bring you off? You’re fidgeting even more than usual.”

He put his mouth to Merlin’s neck and kissed it gently, sensing Merlin’s hesitance.

“Don’t,” Merlin said.

“Why not? I thought you were okay with this.”

“It _was_ okay. But now it’s not.”

“What’s the problem? Would you rather I was in the tub again? Because I do really need to be making my way down to that signing soon.”

“It’s not the tub. I just—”

Merlin stepped out of Arthur’s arms and knelt to wipe water from the floor with Arthur’s discarded clothes.

“Is that how you clean, Merlin?” Arthur asked. “I think I’d prefer open magic.”

Merlin scowled, then resumed sopping up the mess.

“Look, I just don’t want to be kissed like you kiss everyone else. All I can think about is all the other people—not even just other _men_ —who’ve been here before me. And I’m not like that. This isn’t like that for me.”

“Merlin,” Arthur said, crouching to look him square in the eye. “Believe me when I tell you that you’re completely wrong. The servants are completely wrong. I can’t stand most of the people here, much less bed them.”

“You act like you can’t stand me half the time.”

“That’s because I can’t! But, bizarrely, it’s in a way that I need, that I love. Like no one else.”

Merlin was now only vaguely moving the clothes over the wet floor, and he blinked at Arthur, a smile teasing at his lips.

“That you love?” he said, his eyebrows raising with the question.

“Shut up, Merlin.”

“That you love,” Merlin repeated, turning his body to face Arthur properly.

Arthur stared at Merlin, and he was met by the unabashed gorgeousness that he had seen there on their first night together. He took his face in his hands and kissed him, at first just with his lips but then opening into a deep, probing kiss that sent even more heat to Merlin’s groin. Arthur laid Merlin back on the floor, his hands greedily finding their way over Merlin’s long, lanky body. He quickly moved his hand under Merlin’s tunic and felt the warmth of his hip, skin on skin. He felt across Merlin’s stomach for the line of hair from his navel. He wished he had time to spoil every part of Merlin’s body, but he would just have to hope for another chance later. With Merlin insistently hard, the waist of his trousers already being pushed against, he didn’t know how much Merlin would let him linger anywhere else anyway.

Arthur leaned into Merlin’s body with deep, hungry kisses, already beginning to keen with desire himself, despite his recent release.

“Arthur,” Merlin managed to get out, “You’re going to be late. And you’re getting everything wet.”

“We have a minute,” Arthur said, wasting no more time. He pushed Merlin’s trousers down, freeing his cock and gazing at it, letting his fingers trace its veins that pressed back against him. “And somehow I think you’ll manage the mess.”

He kissed Merlin one more time, then moved his body down to lick at Merlin’s nipples and kiss his stomach. Merlin watched in awe as Arthur went lower, then let out a sharp breath when Arthur’s chin brushed the tip of his erection, his mouth pressing a final kiss on that trail of hair he wanted to memorize.

“If you think I’ve ever done this before, for anyone, you’re out of your mind,” Arthur said, his eyes fixing Merlin’s until they showed signs of registering what he’d said. Merlin finally nodded, his lips parted and mouth dry. His legs shifted under Arthur, tense with anticipation.

Arthur licked Merlin’s length from the base to the tip, then took the whole of him in his mouth, pulling gentle sucks with the first upward movement, and each after. It felt too good for Merlin to stay propped on his elbows, watching. He would never last long with how it felt, let alone how it looked—Arthur!—sucking him like this, not minding the floor, or the water, or anything at all.

And he was too good at it not to have done it before, but Merlin wasn’t going to worry about that now. When Arthur added a hand to his mouth’s movements, Merlin groaned without meaning to, intense and pleading. He let his throat hum at will and put his hands in Arthur’s hair, trying to pull him up in time, but Arthur resisted. He kept up his pace, coaxing Merlin with the rise and fall of his mouth’s pressure, hot and wet around him, urging him to come, and he did, with force that almost embarrassed him. Arthur swallowed, though, only clearing his throat a little afterwards, and smirked as he looked up at Merlin.

“Do you believe me yet?” he said. “There’s only you?”

“Arthur, I can’t believe you did that! You didn’t have to—”

“I’m the prince, Merlin. I don’t have to do anything.” He was kneeling now, his hands roaming over Merlin’s stomach. “Will you stay with me tonight?” he added, meeting Merlin’s eyes.

“You have to go to the meeting. That’s something you have to do, and you’re going to be late.”

“Will you stay with me tonight, _please_?” Arthur said, letting his body fall over Merlin’s again, their noses almost touching.

“Yes,” Merlin said, eagerly giving Arthur sweet, grateful kisses. “Thank you for the proper invitation.”

“Of course. I’m nothing if not a gentleman,” Arthur said, punctuating it with a kiss of his own.

He looked around, sizing up their circumstances: the pile of sopping clothes, the wetness seeping through Merlin’s shirt, just peeping over his shoulder, both of them with soaked trousers and a mess of wet hair. He jumped to his feet decisively.

“Right. Clean me up with some magic. Quickly!”

He stood with his arms outstretched, eyes shut, as if it would only work if he weren’t looking, or as though he wanted to be surprised by the outcome.

Merlin laughed, getting to his feet and adjusting his clothes.

“Maybe just this once, but I’m not entirely sure I know the spell. There’s a chance you’ll end up looking like a horse, you know.”

“Yes; I hear there’s a lot of that going around. Perhaps if you just focus on my godliness, I’ll turn out like my usual self.”

“Somewhere between an arse and a god? That might not be too far off, actually,” Merlin said, then hurried Arthur to readiness with a brilliant flash of his eyes, one which the Prince would have been sorry to miss.

****

Uther was upset with Arthur for his lateness once again, but things had gone so well with Annis, and Arthur was looking so uncommonly kempt, that he did not dwell on it. The treaty-signing was a success in that everyone was pleased with the terms of the strengthened alliance, and they were to celebrate with one more banquet before Annis’s departure the following day.

During the festivities that evening, Morgana, Lancelot, Gwen, and Gwaine were relieved to learn that Princess had been brought to a good home, far from Camelot. Their relief was not without a hint of sadness, though, as everyone had been fond of the affectionate creature.

“Won’t they miss him, though?” Gwen asked.

“Of course they will, Gwen,” Morgana said, “But I think they’ve already been trying for a second one.”

“I don’t think it works like that, my lady,” Gwaine said.

“And you would know how it works, wouldn’t you?” she said.

“I know how to have my fun without having a unicorn, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s because you only have your fun with your own hand,” Morgana said.

“If you’d like to change that, you know where my chambers are.”

“Of course I do; all pigs live in the sty.”

Gwen loved that her mistress got the last laugh. As she turned to exchange smiles with Lancelot, she caught sight of Merlin filling Arthur’s cup at the head table. They were both grinning stupidly, not talking at all. The blush on their cheeks made it almost embarrassing to watch.

“Look,” she said, pointing. “I think Morgana’s right about those two.” She chuckled and turned to the group.

“But I would hope not about the unicorn part,” Lancelot said.

“By the look of them, Merlin couldn’t catch another unicorn if he tried,” Gwaine said. “Cheers to Arthur, I suppose.”

“Well, I think you should drink to Princess,” Gwen said.

Morgana agreed and raised her glass. “Yes; to Princess!”

****

That night, after relishing every bit of what it meant for Merlin to be staying with Arthur, they lay in bed, spent, enjoying the silken sheets. Arthur was on his back with Merlin curled into him, the prince’s shoulder serving as his pillow. Merlin traced patterns on Arthur’s chest as they talked and exchanged lazy kisses.

“What do you think Princess is doing now?” Merlin said.

“Torturing some other couple with a surprise visit?”

“No, he’s ours! Just ours,” Merlin said.

“Well, then maybe he’s licking Anhora’s face off while he tries to sleep.”

“He did like doing that to you.”

“It was nice, in its own way.”

“Not the best way to have a bath, though,” Merlin said.

Arthur smiled and nudged Merlin with his shoulder.

“No, the best way was this afternoon.”

Merlin looked up at Arthur through long lashes.

“Maybe not; you were still pretty dirty after.”

“I’m still pretty dirty now,” Arthur said, shifting to slide a heavy leg over Merlin’s thighs.

“I think you’ve been dirty enough today,” Merlin said, pressing into the embrace regardless.

“Never.”

Arthur let his mouth trail over Merlin’s temple, planting kisses on one of the prominent cheekbones he had long admired. He let his lips learn the angles of the bone, the firmness and warmth of the skin.

“You just don’t care now because I can clean you with magic,” Merlin said, smiling into the affection.

“Maybe, but I’ve never had a servant with magic before.”

“Here we go again, always comparing me to the others.”

“There are no others, Merlin,” Arthur said, still busy with Merlin’s cheek.” “Even Giorgio was just a sixty-year-old eunuch.”

“Oh, so you did get in his pants!”

Arthur huffed a laugh but didn’t let it interrupt him. “Shut up, Merlin.”

“Make me,” Merlin said, tilting his head back to stop the tickle of Arthur’s nose against his ear.

“I’m trying to,” Arthur said, hitching his knee so that his leg pinned Merlin even more intimately. “But you’re always so intent on talking nonsense.”

“Well, you’ll just have to let me stay tomorrow night, too. I’ll have even more nonsense than usual built up by then.”

“I’m counting on it,” Arthur said. “Tomorrow night and every other one.”

He laid himself over Merlin completely, parting the full mouth with his own and kissing into it deeply, loving that even that doesn’t quiet all of Merlin’s happy hums.  

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
